


Victims of Ourselves

by Batsutousai



Category: British Actor RPF, Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Angst, Eventual Consensual Relationship Between Rapist and Victim, Loki is a Psychopath, M/M, Off-screen Murder and Rape, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki fell from the Bifröst, it wasn't to Thanos and the Chitauri that he came, but to an alternate Midgard. Hurt, confused, and more than a little insane from his fall through the Void, he lashes out against those he believes lesser to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The characters of Thomas "Tom" Hiddleston and the other actors/directors/etc are based on real people, and no offence is intended; this is only for the entertainment of myself and other like-minded (read: mentally ill) fans.
> 
>  **A/N:** Let me preface this by saying: **TRIGGER WARNING FOR RAPE**. The rape is from the victim(Tom)'s perspective, and we do follow him through the subsequent recovery and when he again meets and eventually falls in love with his rapist(Loki).  
>  If you're not **_one hundred percent certain_** that you can handle this without getting upset or nasty, turn around now. Not kidding, hit the back button. This pairing is unpopular enough without you people Hulking out.
> 
> Please don't think I would want this to happen to Tom; I originally intended for this to be FrostIron, but I realised that Tony would, by no means, be sympathetic after the fact. No way, no how. Tom is ridiculously sympathetic to Loki, all the time, and I honestly believe he'd be able to move past being raped and be willing to try helping Loki.  
> That being said, I do have a long history of doing terrible things to the characters I love the most. *mentally unstable*
> 
> Also, this is _not_ a part of the _Interaction_ series. It's something that bit me while I was working on the next two in that series ( _Code Name: Group Hug_ and _Give This Man His Wings_ ) and I sort of had to break off and write it. It was ENTIRELY UNINTENTIONAL that it ended up being so bloody MASSIVE. Merlin. Shoot me.
> 
> My Chris sucks. He always sucks because I just fail at finding interviews of him. Also, my Australian lingo is shite.  
> You can maybe see a bit of Hiddlesworth if you squint – or are wearing your shipper glasses – but so far as I'm concerned, they're just very good friends.

It was the night before he was due to leave for America to begin filming _Thor_ and Tom was having a bit of a pub crawl with a couple mates. They were on their way to this place down the block that someone in the last pub had insisted had free chips with a round of drinks, and since they were all feeling just a bit peckish beneath the pleasant buzz, it seemed a good plan. Tom wasn't quite as drunk as his mates – he _did_ have a plane ride tomorrow, after all, and a hangover would not leave him grateful for the send-off – but he wasn't sober by any means.

Tom was lagging behind a bit, laughing at the drunken singing his friends were taking part in. He happened to glance down a passing alley and slowed as he saw a hunched form half in the light from the street, shoulders shaking beneath a couple tears in the jacket the person wore. If his friends hadn't been both drunk and quite ahead, they would have grabbed him and hurried him on, used to Tom's urge to help those he could, no matter his own situation. But his friends weren't there to stop him, and Tom was just tipsy enough not to think it might be a bad idea to speak to this unknown person in the middle of the night.

"Hey," he called as he approached and the shoulders froze. "Hey, you okay? Don't need an ambulance, do you?"

The person's head turned, eyes flashing dangerously in the light from the street. "Am...bulance?" the person repeated, as though they'd never heard the word before in their life.

"Yeah. Like, you're not hurt?" Tom replied, his mind finally catching up to his actions through the fuzz of alcohol and suggesting that this might not have been such a good idea. He really hoped this person – man, he thought, by the tone of their voice – wasn't on drugs.

There was a sudden rush of air – like the wind through the windows when you're topping seventy on the motorway – and there was brick in front of Tom, another body tight against his back. Tom wasn't sure, for a moment, if the other's speed was because of the alcohol, or because he was a vampire or something. And then Tom mentally shook himself because, _really_? He needed to stop watching bad films to make himself feel better about slow months.

"And what would you believe to do for me?" the other breathed in his ear, voice like violence and ice.

Fear rushed through Tom and he stiffened between the wall and his assailant. "I–I don't– Look, mate, I–"

"I am not your _mate_ ," the man – definitely a man, Tom had decided, because there weren't many women who were his height – hissed.

"I ju-just wanted to he-help," Tom stuttered, closing his eyes like it would make the other go away. "Look. If you need money, or, or... If you need money or something, wallet's in my back pocket. You can have it, just don't–"

Tom almost bit his tongue to keep from crying out as his arm was wrenched behind his back, held just shy of breaking. "Cease your chatter," the man ordered. "I have no need of your currency."

"Whatever you need!" Tom gasped through the pain. "Anything! Just don't–" _Don't break my arm,_ Tom kept himself from saying. He _couldn't_ lose this job, not after Ken had gone to bat for him, and a broken arm would do just that.

" _Any_ thing?" the male wondered, a note in his voice that Tom couldn't describe, but that sent a thrill of fear through him like nothing else had so far.

The other man pulled back and Tom had a moment to think, _Thank **God** ,_ before a hand was pulling down his trousers. _Does he want my **trousers**? Is that–?_

But no. His pants followed, both pairs of bottoms catching around his knees as the other man again pressed closer. And Tom finally tried to pull away, thought, _Hell, no._ Because he might stand still for a bit of shoving or being robbed – wouldn't be the first time – but there was no way in _hell_ he was standing for where ever this was going – _Don't think about where it's going. Don't think about anything but getting away, getting back to the others and out of the shadows and dammit, Tom, this is why they're always telling you not to help every poor sod–_

But Tom couldn't get away. The other man had an impossible strength, holding easily as Tom pushed against the wall. He laughed, high and almost broken, and a long-fingered hand wrapped warningly around Tom's throat while the other hand caught both of Tom's wrists without any apparent effort, pressing them tight against his lower back. "So _weak_ ," the man breathed. When Tom went limp against him, swallowing against the hand wrapped around his throat, the man stroked up his jaw and cheek, fingers pressed warningly just under Tom's left eye. "Not a sound," the man warned.

Tom parted his lips to agree, then quickly clamped his mouth shut as those fingers brushed his lower eyelash. He gave a jerky nod, showing his understanding.

"Good boy," the man whispered and his hand slid away from Tom's face, away from his body so he couldn't track it. Tom twitched his fingers and the hand around his wrists tightened and pushed up, angling his arms awkwardly. "Behave," his assailant warned and Tom nodded again.

The missing hand finally showed itself, brushing under Tom's shirt tail and along the seam of his buttocks. Tom couldn't hold back a gasp at the touch and the hand on his wrists pressed them further up – a reminder for his silence – and Tom clenched his jaw against further sounds as the other's fingers pressed against his entrance.

"Such a good little fool," the man whispered and two fingers pushed roughly in, uncaring of the muffled whine of pain that Tom only just managed to keep behind closed lips. The man behind him laughed, breathless, against Tom's neck. "I should take you with no assistance," he said in a conversational tone and Tom squeezed his eyes shut against the burn of tears. "It is only as you would deserve, so _weak_." The last was said with a jerk of the fingers pressed into Tom, and he flinched at the shock of pain that travelled his spine. "But I am kind, am I not?" Another finger joined the first two and it was all Tom could do to hold back a whimper. " _Am I not_?" the man demanded, his fingers jerking again and sending pain flashing up Tom's spine.

Tom nodded, not even certain what the question was but knowing he needed to make some response, that agreeing with the mad man was the best course because you always agreed with mad men, right?

"Be grateful," the man breathed against Tom's ear and he nodded again as the fingers left him.

He wanted it to be over, _needed_ this to be the end so he could go home and curl up under his covers, but it wouldn't be, not with this man, and Tom pressed his forehead against the brick in front of him, eyes burning with shame and horror, shoulders slumped with resignation because there was _nothing_ he could do. _Too late to even bother trying._

There came no warning before the man's penis was pushing sharply up into him, already at least halfway before the pain even registered, and Tom opened his mouth to scream – he couldn't have stopped it if he tried – only to find it covered by the hand that had been inside of him before, fingers smelling vaguely of faeces and blood. Tom thought he might throw up for a moment, but then his head was pulled back against his attacker's shoulder and the man breathed against his ear, " _Silence_ , I said."

Tom swallowed the rising bile and nodded, tears streaking from his eyes as he stared up at the cloudy sky above him.

The man licked along the line of saltwater closest to him. "So good," he murmured pressing in and out of Tom's anus.

Tom couldn't help but wonder, a little manically, if the man was talking about his behaviour, or his body. He bit his tongue to keep from letting out a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and the man's hand trailed over his chin to wrap around his throat, the reminder clear.

Tom kept his silence for the rest of the act, staring up at the clouds and trying to ignore the breath fanning against his throat, the burn of pain in his anus and up his spine, the feel of fingers brushing against his throat, reminding him to hold his silence.

His attacker grunted once as he finished inside Tom, riding out his orgasm for a couple strokes before finally pulling out. Tom felt something trickling down his thighs and bile climbed his throat again, sudden and almost too strong for him to swallow down.

"Such pitiful creatures," his attacker whispered, releasing Tom's wrists to fall limply at his sides. "What he saw in her..." He gave a sharp laugh, full of broken edges, and tightened the hand that had been light against Tom's throat. "You've been so good," he murmured as Tom gasped against his sudden difficulty in drawing breath. "I shall grant you a quick death, a release from all the pain of this existence."

 _No, no, no, no–_ Tom cried in his mind, not even sure if he could vocalise it with what little breath he could draw.

"No?" his attacker repeated, amused. "You would prefer your death to be slow?"

Tom felt oddly dizzy for a moment and it took him almost too long to realise that the man had turned him around so they were face-to-face. Tom couldn't quite make out his attacker's face, not with what little light reached them directly behind him, but the man was more than capable of seeing Tom.

"No..." his attacker breathed, his hand leaving Tom's throat to brush up his jaw and over one cheek. "You can't exist," he snarled as Tom choked on oxygen, trying to replenish his personal supply while he had the chance. " _How do you exist_?" he demanded, nose brushing against Tom's as he got too close.

And then the man had pulled away, was gone before Tom had finished sinking to his knees, legs unable to support his weight. He curled in on himself, gasping sobs into his hands because the man was gone and he was alive and _why, why, why_? Why him? Why now? He'd been so _happy_ these past months, the promise of this job like a gift from God, he could afford such lovely gifts for his family for once, was leaving for America and a film that could be his big break, that moment that he'd dreamt of ever since before he decided to go to try being an actor.

And now. And now...

 _And now what?_ the cold voice of his rational mind returned. _You're alive, you can still act this part. Are you going to ruin everything for some nutter? Get up._

Tom uncurled and slowly went about putting himself back in order, because that was right; he couldn't ruin this, would have been better letting his attacker kill him if he was just going to sit there and cry. When life beat you down, you got right back up; that was something he'd always believed, had whispered to himself every time something didn't pan out. This attack was no different, no more capable of holding him back than anything else.

He had to believe that.

Tom didn't join back up with his friends, all the same. He hurt all over and really wanted nothing more than to collapse in the hotel room he'd rented for his last couple nights in London. He cursed, now, his decision to sell his flat and send most of his stuff ahead to the flat he'd rented in Los Angeles, because he would have preferred to return to his own room, his own bed, trusting the only people who had keys to get inside without his say. But the hotel was all he had, and he'd be in his own flat soon enough, as new as it would be.

Tom knew he should probably go to hospital, get checked out and report the rape to the authorities so they could catch the guy. But he had a flight early tomorrow, and a trip to the A&E would take all night and they'd probably try and keep him in the country, to heal or help them catch the nutter. He couldn't chance it, not after he'd decided that he wouldn't let the attack change anything.

And, well, Tom had heard stories, from those friends who'd tried anal sex before – whispered as the words had been after too many pints – and he hurt, yes – he hurt a _lot_ – but he was able to walk almost normal, could make it back to his hotel without receiving too many odd looks from others on the street. He was pretty sure that if he _really_ needed medical attention, he wouldn't have been able to take more than a couple steps.

Maybe it wasn't like him, this refusal to get a wound checked out, but this was something he couldn't afford right now. _If there's clearly something wrong in the morning, if I can't get out of bed, I'll go,_ he decided as he stepped into the hotel lift. _And I'll look for a clinic in Los Angeles to do an STI check. Better to have it run in the country I'm in, I think._ He closed his eyes, because wouldn't it _just_ be his luck right now that he'd have contracted something?

When he got into his hotel room, he locked it up as tightly as he could, threw back a few too many paracetamol because that was all he had, binned his clothing, and hid in the shower for almost an hour, scrubbing his skin raw to get the feel of those too-strong fingers off his wrists and throat. He rinsed out his bum as well as he could, too, and while it ran with pink for a bit, the colour quickly stopped and he relaxed a bit, because that could only be a good thing. He hoped.

The paracetamol had done its job, and by the time Tom got out of the bathroom, he felt only a little sore as he changed into his loosest shirt and pants. Sitting down on the bed caused a reminder of pain in his lower back, though, and Tom grimaced and pointedly lay down on his side, focussing on his iPod instead of his pains. He put together a playlist to fall asleep to, then curled up to do so, burying his face against his pillow as U2 soothed through his earbuds.

He couldn't say how much sleep he got before he woke with bile climbing his throat and his lower back on fire. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, sobbing at the burn of alcohol and stomach acid running the wrong way up his throat and throbbing in tandem with his lower back.

He pressed his face against the porcelain as he reached blindly up to flush. _I can't do this,_ he thought over the sound of swirling water. _God, I can't–_ A phantom feel of long fingers brushing up his cheek along a streak of tears struck him without warning and Tom heaved nothing into the bowl, salty tears splashing against the slowly burbling water. "I can't," he gasped to the water as it came to a stop. "I can't, can't, can't..."

But he had to, had already committed himself, hadn't he?

He touched his forehead to the seat on the far side, his chin brushing on the inside closest to him. "I can do this," he whispered. "I _can_."

He took another moment to force his thoughts into something more upbeat – remain positive, always positive – then pushed away from the toilet. He hissed at the shock of pain that went up his spine at the sudden movement, but gritted his teeth and stood. He found the paracetamol and took another couple with two glasses of water because he was thirsty, then limped back to bed and his iPod, finding comfort in the familiar music.

Tom woke up one more time to heave water into the toilet, phantom fingers brushing over his throat and holding tight to around his wrists. He was just pushing shakily away from the toilet when his alarm went off. He took a moment to lean helplessly against the sink, then limped out and re-set it for an hour later, because there was no way he could run in his state, no matter how much he might want to, and if he couldn't run, at least he could sleep.

He managed his extra hour without any nightmares and woke feeling slightly more human, in spite of the burn of his lower back and the taste of acid on his tongue. He took another couple pills for the pain and brushed his teeth against the taste, then saw to changing for the day – long sleeves and a high collar to hide the faint bruising that was coming up around his wrists and throat, and a hat to hide the abrasion on his forehead from the brick wall – and packing what little hadn't been put away before he'd gone out the night before.

A quick breakfast, courtesy of the hotel, and the gleam of the morning sun helped dispel the lingering traces of last night's events and he met the man that had been sent to drive him to the airport with a wide smile.

At the airport, Tom hurried through security and stopped at one of the small shops for some ibuprofen – his father swore by it for when his arthritis started acting up – and a pillow to sit on, since he'd quickly discovered that having something soft under his bum helped with the ache.

The flight was, by no means, comfortable. He'd managed to avoid any bouts of illness, and the ibuprofen had certainly helped with the pain, but when they'd brought around the mid-flight meal, he'd been taking a nap and his seatmate had woken him by shaking his wrist, which had brought him awake with a cry locked in his throat and flinching away from the contact. She'd apologised about six times while they ate and Tom hadn't really been able to get angry at her; it wasn't like she'd known he would react that way to being touched. They'd spent much of the rest of the flight talking about their favourite films – many of which they shared – and that kept Tom pleasantly distracted from his thoughts.

All told, though, he was quite glad to find his driver at the airport and arrive at his temporary home shortly after. He sent out the messages he'd promised his family and friends to let them know he'd arrived safely, then drew up a bath because it sounded like the best plan.

After his bath, he ordered out for something and set up his television while he waited. With food and a couple of his favourite films, he settled in to unwind, promising himself he would unpack a couple boxes after two films.

Tom hadn't even realised he'd fallen asleep until his mobile woke him. It was Ken, checking in to make sure he and his things had all made the trip safely and remind him when he'd need to be in the next morning. Once he'd hung up with Ken, Tom got up and set about unpacking a few boxes, trying to make the flat look a little more like he was living there before he collapsed into his bed.

He slept through the night fine, but had to skip his run again in the morning. He felt much better, but he didn't want to chance further damage, especially since he'd be spending a lot of time in the gym for the first couple weeks, from what Ken had told him.

Tom's driver brought him directly to the set and, from there, he was directed to the gym, where he was introduced to his personal trainers and they discussed what their schedule would look like, considering they had to plan around the filming, which would be starting at the beginning of the next week. Tom agreed to come in on Saturday, so they had a bit of extra time, then they started working on seeing what they would have to work with to get the look that Ken wanted.

While they'd been working together, the gym had filled up with other actors and their trainers, and when they broke for lunch, Tom found himself being greeted by his new co-workers. He quickly developed the oddest sense of claustrophobia and had to excuse himself, taking a couple sandwiches and a bottle of water outside.

The actor playing Thor, Chris Hemsworth, met him out there and sat down on the opposite side of the front steps with his own meal. "Chris," he introduced, holding out a hand.

Tom considered the other man for a moment, uncertain, before reaching out and taking the offered hand. "Tom."

"You're Loki, right?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." Chris took a huge bite of his sandwich and swallowed it before saying, "Bit odd to be the big man next to all the other big names hanging around, you know?"

Tom found himself relaxing and let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, a bit. I mean, I'm no _Thor_ –"

"You tried for the part, though. That's what I've heard."

Tom frowned at him. "Yeah, I did. Why?"

Chris shrugged. "No reason. Liam, my brother, made a bid for it, too." He grinned. "He tried acting all jealous when I got the news, but he failed. Never gonna let him live that down... But you got Loki, so that's not bad." He glanced at Tom, eyes bright. "You don't look like much of a mad man."

"You seem to have muscled idiot in the bag, though," Tom snapped before he could stop himself and Chris burst out laughing. "Oh, God. I'm sorry," Tom hurried to say covering his face with one hand. "That was so rude. Sorry."

"No, no," Chris assured him, still chuckling. "That was– No, really, I deserved that." He held out his hand. "Sorry, let's try this again; Chris Hemsworth. I'll be playing Thor."

Tom blinked, confused, but took the offered hand all the same. "Tom Hiddleston, Loki."

"You got any siblings?" Chris asked, letting go and returning to his lunch.

"Two sisters."

"You like pulling their legs a bit?"

Tom laughed, finally catching on to Chris' angle. "Yeah, yeah I do. But shouldn't it be the other way around? _I'm_ the Trickster, after all."

Chris grinned. "I look forward to it," he replied.

Tom and Chris spent the rest of their lunch talking about their siblings, since they'd both already made mention of them. They finished up their training day, then ended up joining up for dinner out in town. Chris had got into Los Angeles a few days before Tom and had already explored a bit, so he was able to give Tom some suggestions for good shops and restaurants in the area.

-0-

Tom continued to make a close friend in Chris over the course of the week, the two of them often going out for dinner after spending the day at the gym and talking about whatever came to mind. By the time Sunday came around, Tom felt like he'd known Chris for years and had completely relaxed in his presence. Chris'd had things to do on Sunday, though, so Tom spent the day unpacking and singing loudly along to whatever shuffled through his iTunes. When he went to bed that night, he did so feeling good about the coming months working on this film.

Tom couldn't have been asleep for more than two hours when he woke in a cold sweat, phantom hands wrapped tight around his throat and caressing his cheek. He ran for the toilet and managed not to throw up, but it was a near thing. He ended up curled in a ball next to the toilet for a good twenty minutes, trying to calm himself down and jumping every time his shirt or hair brushed against his wrists as he shook.

Eventually, he felt calm enough to get up and pull out his iPod. As he had in the hotel room less than a week ago, he pulled up a playlist and curled up on his bed, letting the familiar music soothe him to sleep.

He didn't wake again until his alarm went off, loud enough to hear even with his earbuds in, then he stumbled about his morning routine feeling like crap.

"You okay?" Chris asked when Tom met him outside the gym.

Tom waved a hand at him. "Bad night. I'll be fine," he promised and managed a smile.

Chris nodded, looking uncertain, and they made their way in together.

The morning was long and Tom felt sluggish as he moved through the kata he'd been learning, but he kept on because he'd promised himself. The stop for lunch before going to costume helped him rally himself and he felt more normal – though the term was relative, in this case – by the time he walked out onto set in his dark grey, silver, and green costume. The filming for the day went better than he could have hoped, considering how he'd been that morning, but he counted what blessings came his way.

He didn't go out with Chris that night, though, choosing to instead go home and eat something small before falling into bed. He slept through the night and felt all the better the next morning.

The rest of that week went by without Tom waking in the night, for which he was eternally grateful. Saturday was spent relaxing with his co-workers, the lot of them going out to the beach and making fools of themselves. That night, though, Tom woke twice in a cold sweat and concluded that it was the exhaustion after a long day of working which left him nightmare-free.

Chris came by Sunday morning to find Tom half asleep, cup of tea limp in one hand when he opened the door. "Hey. Rough night?" he asked in concern.

Tom shrugged and stepped back. "Come on in. Don't know that I'm up for much today, though."

"That's okay." Chris moved inside and pushed Tom towards the couch, which he sunk down into gratefully. "I'm here if you need someone to talk to," the Australian promised, hovering next to the couch and feeling a bit useless.

"Thanks," Tom replied, smiling up at the taller man. "I'll be fine, though. I was going to watch a couple films, I think, if you wanted to join me?"

"Yeah, sure," Chris agreed and followed Tom's directions to his film collection.

Tom knew what he wanted to watch, but he let Chris pick a couple out, too, and they settled in to watch them. Tom managed to keep awake through lunch, but he fell asleep after managing only part of the quesadilla Chris had thrown together after snooping through Tom's kitchen. Chris had apparently decided to let him sleep, because Tom woke some hours later, feeling much better, to find his guest had cleaned away their plates and tucked a blanket around him.

"Sorry," he murmured as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes.

"You looked like you needed it," Chris replied, looking Tom over and smiling, apparently satisfied with what he'd found.

"I did," Tom admitted. "I hope it doesn't keep me up tonight, though," he added with a wry smile.

"You could try sleep pills," Chris suggested.

Tom blinked. "Oh." That was...a brilliant idea, actually. Sleeping pills might just keep the nightmares at bay on those nights that he wasn't so tired that he pretty much fell into his bed, and Tom saw nothing wrong with avoiding the nightmares.

Chris smiled at him, reading the basics of his thoughts on his face. "We can go out for dinner and find some while we're out."

"Yeah, sure," Tom agreed and stood from the couch to use the toilet. "Be right back. Sorry..."

"Stop apologising!" Chris called after him.

"Sorry!" Tom called back and it felt good to laugh.

They did pick up some sleeping pills while they were out for dinner and Tom took them that night. He didn't wake from a nightmare, so he counted it as a success and was perhaps a bit over-cheerful when he met up with Chris in front of the gym, judging by the way the Australian groaned upon seeing him and made a false attempt to punch him, which Tom ducked with a laugh.

-0-

That week and the next lot went fine, until they'd been filming for almost three months and Tom had only woken from four nightmares since starting to take the sleep pills on weekends. He had finally tracked down a private clinic the weekend after he'd got the pills and his tests had come back negative so far, though they warned he would have to test again to be absolutely certain. He was finally beginning to think he could move past the attack when Ken stopped by where Chris, Tom, and a couple of the other actors were laughing during a break one afternoon, expression grim. "Tom," their director called.

"Ken! Sorry, did you need me for something?"

Ken waved that away and held out a copy of _The Daily Telegraph_. "Have you been in contact with your family? They live in London, right?"

"Mum and Emma do, yeah," Tom agreed, taking the familiar paper. "But why are you–?" Tom cut himself off as he registered the headline of the article Ken had the paper open to: _'Rash of Rape-Murders Has London on Guard'_

"Tom? You okay?" Chris asked.

Tom shook his head, bile in his throat, and stood. "Excuse me," he managed and retreated to the nearest toilets, newspaper left behind. _I'm too used to this,_ he couldn't help but think as he flushed his lunch away, kneeling on the floor next to the toilet and carefully ensuring nothing had got onto his costume. (And how odd was it to be throwing up while dressed as a god?)

The toilet door creaked open and Tom froze. "Tom?" Chris called.

 _Of course he'd come looking for me,_ Tom realised; Chris had taken to checking in with him ever since he'd come over that Sunday, and the three bad nights since had only given him reason to continue doing so. Tom could keep quiet, pretend he wasn't there, but Chris had likely already spotted him, the stalls too small to completely hide his costume while he was on the floor. "Yeah," he called out and winced as the rasp of his abused throat.

There was a quiet slide of metal – the sound that always accompanied Chris moving his arms in the full-armoured version of his Asgardian armour – followed by the sound of one of the sinks running. The sink stopped and Chris' boots came to a stop in front of Tom's stall before he knelt outside, passing a paper cup of water under the stall door.

Tom felt a flash of gratitude as he took the cup and used a mouthful to flush the taste of stomach acid from his mouth before sipping at the rest, settling his back against his side of the stall door, as he could tell that Chris was doing on the other side. "Thanks," he whispered.

"What happened?" Chris asked.

Tom fingered the lip of the cup for a moment, uncertain, before deciding that if he owed anyone an explanation for his occasional bouts of sickness, it was Chris, who had so seamlessly become his best mate, like he'd been there all along. "The night before I came over, I got...attacked. In an alley in London."

"Attacked?" Chris asked, a hint of fear in his tone.

Tom closed his eyes and pulled his knees tight against his chest, the curved gold plate cool through the light material of his trousers. "Raped," he admitted, and the word felt heavy in the air between them.

"Tom..." Chris breathed like an apology.

"He said he was going to kill me," Tom hurried to say, not wanting to hear Chris apologise for something he'd had no control over, but also because his mind was finally looking past his own reaction to being blindsided by his experience and remembering what the headline said, "but something...spooked him, I guess. He left." He touched the exposed area of his throat as phantom fingers pressed against skin hidden under the high collar, as though to ensure there was no other hand there.

"It's not your fault," Chris insisted, following Tom's line of thought better than anyone who didn't share his blood had ever managed.

"I know that," Tom replied quietly, and he did, though he occasionally had a hard time selling himself on the idea when he remembered that he'd known better than to go into the alley in the first place. "No. I should have reported it. If this is– If it's the same guy, they maybe could have caught him months ago. Lives could have been saved."

"You'd have had to stay in London, probably," Chris pointed out logically, following the same path that Tom had done nearly three months before. "In contact, if nothing else, and you'd almost certainly have missed your flight."

 _'And everyone would have found out,'_ neither of them said, but both of them knew.

"There's no way to know if it's the same person," Chris added.

"It could be," Tom insisted, wondering if he was going to be sick again. God, he hoped it _wasn't_ the same guy; he'd never be able to live with himself if it was.

"Have you spoken to your family recently?"

Tom nodded. "Emma and I spoke on Sunday. She didn't say anything." Not that Tom had asked, since he hadn't known. He would, next time they spoke. Perhaps he'd ring her tomorrow, during lunch. Ask about her and their mother and all their varied acquaintances.

The toilet door opened again. "Chris? Did you find him?" Ken asked.

"I'm here," Tom replied for his friend and pushed himself to his feet. He waited until Chris had stood on the other side before pulling the stall door open.

Chris was watching him with sadness bright in his blue eyes while Ken looked worried. "Didn't mean to send you off in a panic, Tom," Ken told him. "Is your family–?"

Tom shook his head. "No, no. I heard from Emma a couple days ago and she didn't say anything." Ken relaxed, though the concern remained in his eyes. "I'll ring her tomorrow, make certain. Sorry I overreacted."

Ken waved that away, apparently soothed by the unneeded apology. "No, no. I probably should have found a better way to let you know," he insisted. "I was a little surprised that you hadn't already heard, but I know you've been finding other things to amuse yourself with..." He glanced at Chris, then frowned slightly at the Australian's expression.

"Probably time to get back out there," Tom cut in, stepping from the stall and pushing Chris' shoulder in a manner that had become familiar between them in the past months. "Have to destroy Jötunheim."

Chris let out a surprised snort at the bastardised quote. "You can't destroy an entire race, Tom."

"I do what I want." He smiled and Chris smiled back.

As they made their way back out to the set, Tom sped up a bit to walk with his mentor. "Ken," he said, thinking of something he'd been contemplating for a while.

"Yes?"

"This scene... Is it okay if I try something a little different with Loki?"

Ken raised his eyebrows. "Different how?"

"Less...crazy," Tom explained, frowning as he tried to explain what had felt off about the script, the uncertainty that he could act exactly as he'd been written to act, especially right then. "Well, still crazy, but less maniacal, really. More...sad?"

Ken stopped and both Tom and Chris did the same, the three of them clustering together just in sight of the set they were working on that day. The director considered Tom for a long moment, then nodded. "Try it."

Tom nodded back and they continued their trek towards the set, Tom falling back to walk with Chris.

"Okay?" Chris asked quietly.

Tom shrugged, then shot his friend his best I'm-up-to-no-good smile. "What a silly question, Brother."

Chris sighed, but nodded and brought his own character forward. "I should know better than to expect a straight answer from so talented a liar," he returned.

Tom had time to frown before they were back on set and being directed to their assistants for their capes, weapons, and Tom's helmet.

Ken seemed to like Tom's version well enough, since he didn't insist they re-do the scene from the original script, though they did have to run through it a couple of times. It should have been harder than it was for Tom to keep himself in that emotional place for so long, but he'd been edging against depression for months and it felt good to shout and cry.

When they were both out of costume, Chris dragged Tom to his own flat and set them up with food they shouldn't have been eating and a line-up of really bad films. Tom kept waiting for Chris to ask him to talk about the attack, like his sisters or parents would have done, but Chris let him hold his silence and Tom eventually relaxed enough to doze on the couch. Chris woke him so Tom could change into some pyjamas the Australian kept for him – it wasn't the first time Tom had ended up sleeping over, and he had things for Chris at his own flat, from the couple times they'd crashed there – and he curled back up on the couch while Chris retired to his bedroom.

Tom called Emma the next afternoon and asked about the rape/murders. _"We didn't want to worry you,"_ Emma explained, meaning herself and their mother. _"We figured you hadn't heard about it, since you hadn't asked, and since it's a bit out of your reach..."_ She sighed. _"No one we know's been affected, and we're none of us really his type–"_

"Type?" Tom returned, frowning.

He could hear her rolling her eyes as she replied, _"Where'd you hear about it, anyway? American newspaper? Yeah, he's got a bit of a type. Well, two types: He goes after petite, dark-haired girls, and blond, built blokes. We're, none of us, quite fitting that, but we're still going about in groups of three or more. Figured that was safest, you know?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, well, keep being safe, okay? And let me know if anything happens?"

 _"I know, I know,"_ Emma returned, amused and resigned to Tom worrying over her. _"Get back to your big break, yeah?"_

"Yeah." Tom rang off and rubbed a hand over his mouth, turning Emma's words over in his mind. He'd already dyed his hair when he'd been attacked, and he wasn't particularly 'built', not in the way that Emma had meant, at least, which meant he wasn't this man's 'type'. _Different guy,_ Tom decided and felt better. He still wished he'd at least sent in an anonymous tip to the local police, but at least his inaction didn't seem to have an effect on this rash of attacks.

-0-

Chris spent a couple days being a little awkward with Tom, until the slighter man brought him down in the gym and promptly sat on his chest, declaring himself king of all Midgard and listing out idiotic laws he was going to enforce until Chris was gasping for breath through his laughter and the others in the gym weren't doing much better. When Tom finally helped his friend to his feet, Chris gripped his hand with all his usual strength, rather than the uncertain grip he'd been using, and got to his feet before knocking Tom's feet out from under him and laughing like an idiot while Tom rolled his eyes and got back off his behind.

About a month later, during another afternoon break, Chris and Jaimie had a question about a scene they were working on the next day and went in hunt of Ken, Josh and Tom tagging along while Ray and Tadanobu waved them on with a laugh or quiet amusement. They found him watching through a scene with one of the computer techs and all hung back a bit, uncertain.

Ken glanced up, saw them, then waved them forward. "We're discussing some CGI for this scene. Feel free to give your opinions."

They all piled in around the monitor, the tech moving out of the way with a good-natured laugh. "Let me know," he told Ken, who waved him off while he tracked back to the beginning of the scene, which turned out to be Thor and Loki's fight near the end of the film's timeline.

Tom was excited to watch it, because he was actually quite fond of that scene, something he knew he shared with Chris. But when Ken started it up, Tom was filled with an inexplicable sense of dread, which only grew as the scene went on.

 _"Is it madness?"_ Tom-on-the-screen was saying, and it was like an echo of something else that Tom had heard. _"Is it? **Is** it?! Come on. What happened to you on Earth that turned you so s-soft? Don't tell me it was that **woman**."_

And, with a sinking feeling, the tone of the voice clicked with the expression plastered across the screen; Tom had seen that face before, turned with that exact same broken glare, but it had been half in shadow and touched with confusion. And that _voice_. How could Tom have forgotten that voice, whispering hatred in his ear while pain burned along his spine? How could he have not realised it was his own, as someone outside his own head would have heard it?

 _"How do you exist?"_ his rapist had demanded when he got a good look at Tom's face.

"Oh my God," Tom breathed, stomach churning; the longer he stared at his own face on the screen, twisted with wounds still a little too fresh, the more he saw that man in the alley, with his black hair and dark clothing, torn, like he'd just come from a fight.

"Tom?" one of the others called.

"Hey," Chris called, touching Tom's shoulder. Tom blinked up at him and something in his expression must have told Chris that he needed to get away, because the Australian nodded and pulled Tom out of the crowd around the monitor. "Sorry," he offered to the others. "We'll be right back. Jaimie, shield."

"Right," Jaimie replied and turned to ask Ken the question she and Chris had come over for.

Chris led Tom to the nearest toilets, because they were private and out of the way. Tom leaned back against a wall, too distracted by his epiphany to feel nauseous. "Hey. Talk to me. What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"God," Tom corrected, shaking his head. "It was Loki."

Chris frowned, pressing one hand against Tom's shoulder. "What was?"

Tom blinked. "In the alley. The person who attacked me was Loki."

Chris' lips thinned. "Tom–"

"That, or someone with my voice," Tom hurried to say, recognising that expression. "And I only saw it for a moment, and it was in shadow, but his face looked an awful lot like mine."

"Maybe you're remembering things wrong," Chris suggested carefully. Tom's shoulders tensed and the Australian hurried to say, "No, don't get angry, _listen to me_. It's been four months and you've been seeing yourself, in this costume, in the mirror for this entire time. And Loki isn't real, Tom. You _know_ he's just a story."

Tom closed his eyes. What Chris was saying sounded more plausible than a creature of myth having stepped out of a comic book to rape him the day before he was due to start acting that very part, but Tom could _never_ forget that voice, nor the disbelief that his attacker had expressed upon seeing his face. His attacker had been Loki, he was _certain_ , but there would be no way he could make Chris see that, not without proof that he had no way to gather. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I know.

Chris squeezed his shoulder under the heavy fabric of Tom's costume. "I can talk to Ken, let him know you've gone home. You don't have anything else today, and you look like you could use a bit of a lie down."

Tom nodded, thinking that actually sounded pretty good.

Chris saw him to the changing rooms, grabbing Tom's personal assistant on the way, then left them to talk to Ken.

When Tom got back to his flat, he tossed back a sleeping pill and curled up to sleep on his bed, feeling more than enough drained to think it was a good idea.

Chris apparently dropped by at one point, because when Tom woke in the morning, groggy from too much sleep, he found some Thai food in his fridge that hadn't been there when he fell asleep. He heated it up to eat for breakfast and considered his epiphany from the day before while he ate. Even in the early morning light, he remained certain that it had been Loki in that alley.

"Well," he whispered into the plastic container he was eating out of, "I guess telling the police wouldn't have done any good." He laughed tiredly and rubbed a hand against his eyes. He was torn between relief to know who had raped him, anger that the 'god' had decided to attack someone who'd offered help, and sorrow for Loki, who must have just found out he was a Jötun and then been denied by his father. It was such an odd mix of emotions that he laughed at himself and left his food to cover his eyes.

_How has this become my life?_

He managed to get himself back under control and finished the last of his food with plenty of time to take a run before he needed to be in. The run helped to clear the chaos in his mind and he figured out that there was nothing he could do now with this new knowledge, and there was no one who would believe him about it, anyway. He'd promised he wouldn't let the attack get in the way of his job, so he put the matter away and returned his thoughts to his old view of Loki as much as he could.

 _Two more months,_ he reminded himself as he stepped onto set, greeting people as he went. _Two more months and I can leave all of this behind._

He wasn't, honestly, sure if that was a relief or not.

-0-

But the two months passed and before Tom knew it, he'd shipped all of his things back to London and was trading goodbyes with Chris and a couple of others who'd come to see the London-goers off at the airport. The flight back home was less stressful than the flight to America, six months and a budding friendship with those seated around him – Idris across the row, Anthony seated in front of him – easing the trip.

Emma and his parents were there to meet him when he got to baggage-claim, and he let them take him out for dinner, laughing and putting them off when they badgered him for information about the film.

It wasn't until the next morning, listening to the wireless while unpacking in his new flat, that he really remembered anything about the rape/murders that were still happening. "Haven't they caught the bloke yet?" he asked Emma when she came by with lunch and an offer to help.

"No." Emma sighed. "Any traces he leaves come up useless in tracking him down, and he's terribly good at avoiding anyone out for him. He did an officer looking for him last month and they've been working harder to catch him since, but they've had no luck. A couple of people I've talked to think he's in the force, since he's avoiding them so well, while a couple of others think it's really multiple guys."

"But he's slowed down a bit," Tom commented, remembering what he'd heard that morning; the bodies had been showing up three or four a week in the first three months, but they'd slowed down to only one or two a week, now.

"Maybe he's getting bored," Emma suggested. "Or it's just getting harder for him to catch people out; no one goes out on their own any more, especially if you're his type."

"Yeah. What was that again? Blond males, dark haired females?"

Emma nodded. "Always blond, muscled males, and always petite women, but he's widened to females with lighter hair."

"Well, at least you're not petite, so my fears are soothed," Tom returned and Emma kicked him under the table. He laughed and reached out to grab her hand. "I'm glad, really."

"Me too," Emma admitted, biting her lip. "Bethany moved out to Luton when it came out he'd attacked a blonde woman. She claims it was just for work, but she's refused to come back for a visit since she left."

"I hope he gets bored soon, or they finally catch him," Tom said and Emma nodded before changing topics.

-0-

The next morning, London woke to the news that their serial rapist/murderer had taken two people in the night: A particularly strong man with bleach-blond hair and a small young woman with light brown hair. According to friends, the bloke had only just lightened his hair and had gone out to draw the rapist out and take him down, secure in his own strength. The girl was a close friend who'd been dragged along with a nervous laugh and a can of pepper spray clutched in her hands. Both had been raped and left for dead in an alley, and while the male had taken the worst of the attack, it was assumed that was only because he'd tried fighting back.

There was a photo of the deceased with the article, and Tom only glanced past it before doing a double-take and looking back to stare. Add some shadows, turn the man's hair blond, and they could have passed for Chris and Natalie. _Thor and Jane,_ Tom recognised, and then bile was climbing his throat and he had to make a run for the toilet.

 _It's Loki,_ he thought as he rested his cheek against the porcelain bowl, water swirling beneath him. _He'd be strong enough to take on even the strongest of humans, nothing can track a person who doesn't exist so far as humanity is concerned, and he could use magic to avoid being caught by chance._

Rape often was an act of power, not sex, Tom knew from his own readings on the subject some months ago. Loki had been told he was the lesser son, had grown up amongst a race that held strength above cleverness; humans were easy targets if all he wanted was to prove himself better, and killing them just kept the chance of anyone finding out about him low.

"Anyone but me." Tom let out a heavy breath and leaned back against the wall next to the toilet, covering his face with his hands. "He let me go, let me live. Because I share his face."

_Loki couldn't kill himself._

Tom straightened, surprised. "He let me go. I just spent six months getting into his head, I know how he thinks. Could I–" He swallowed with difficulty. _I'm the only one who can hope to stop him._

It was insane, thinking that he could talk down a mad god, and he felt sick at the thought of putting himself back in that position, but what choice did he have? People were dying and he might be able to stop the killer, had a chance to save others from going through an attack at Loki's hands.

Tom took a couple of deep breaths and turned his thoughts to _how_ he would attract Loki's attention. He knew the god would be looking for blond-haired men who could take on any foe. Tom could dye his hair back to blond, but he'd lost any bulking muscles he'd had in training for his part as Loki. A large coat could make him look a bit more muscled, but he'd have to find one first.

He needed to go to the shops.

-0-

By the time night fell, Tom was outwardly ready to hunt the city for a crazed god, but internally he was at war. It was a horrible idea, he could end up dead in the morning, but he _had to try_. He gave himself another ten minutes to fortify himself with a cup of his favourite tea, then squared his shoulders and headed out.

There was no rhyme or reason to where Loki struck, Tom had discovered while looking back over old attack sites, although he pretty much stuck to inside the city limits, only hunting the suburbs every five or six weeks. He also wasn't as inclined to attack someone two days in a row, but Tom couldn't decided if that was just because of opportunity, or if he was honestly satiating his appetite for power and taking a break the following night.

Tom stayed out until ten before heading back home, in turns dejected and relieved, and spent the night tossing and turning, ending up with his face pressed against the toilet twice, though he only threw up the first time. He was glad to spend the day curled up on his couch with his favourite films, and claimed illness when a couple friends came by after lunch to catch up. They were sympathetic and wished him well, and at least one of them must have passed on his state to his sister, because he ended up getting calls from her and both his parents asking after his health.

When night fell, Tom pulled on his bulky coat and took to the streets.

"You sure you should be out?" a shopkeep asked as Tom stopped in for a bottle of water.

"Sick," Tom said by way of reply and set the water on the counter, as well as some sleep pills, since he'd stopped using them about a month ago and he had no interest in another night like the previous one if he didn't manage to find Loki.

"Hurry home," the shopkeep replied as he rang everything up. "And keep out of the shadows."

"I know. Thanks."

Tom didn't avoid the shadows, of course, because he was truly looking for Loki. As it was ticking towards ten, though, he sighed to himself and turned back towards home, resigned to another night of failure. He was passing through the same alley he'd been attacked in originally when he heard what sounded like a whimper. He froze for a moment, heart thudding in his chest, then turned and started into the alley, pulling out his mobile to use as a torch.

Tom had just passed over the line between light that reached from the streets and the alley's shadows when he was shoved, face-first, against the brick wall, his phone flying from his hand and skittering across the concrete. "Didn't mummy and daddy tell you not to go out in the night?" that too familiar, violent voice whispered in his ear.

Panic stole Tom's breath for one terrifying moment, but when he felt a hand at his belt, he choked out, "L-Loki!"

His attacker froze.

"Stop," Tom whispered against the brick. "Loki, please."

Tom was spun and slammed back against the wall. Green flame bloomed in a hand held between him and his attacker and they took a long moment to stare into mirror images before Loki's expression turned with fury. " _You_ ," he spat and his free hand grabbed Tom's throat. "Did you think, little mortal, that you are _special_? That I would let you go _twice_?"

Tom shook his head even though, yes, he was kind of banking on that.

"Did you think discovering my _name_ would save you?" Loki demanded, and it was only because he'd seen uncertainty in his own eyes so often that Tom recognised it in Loki's.

"Has it helped?" Tom returned, because the uncertainty was as much of an opening as he was going to get.

Confusion flashed in Loki's eyes and he loosened his grip on Tom's throat enough to let him breathe that littlest easier.

"Hurting others, has it made you feel more like a king?" Tom hurried to ask before Loki's confusion could give way to anger.

"What would you know?" Loki snarled and his hand was back to pressing against Tom's throat, even tighter than before.

Tom grabbed the hand against his throat, struggling to gasp out, "Thor ris...ked his...life. Got Mjöl...nir back."

Loki pulled his hand away, Tom's hands still clutching at it, and stared at the human while he choked on air. Only once Tom met his eyes, hurriedly pulling his hands away from the god, did Loki demand, "How do you know these things?"

"There's a film," Tom explained quietly, calmed by the quieting of violence in Loki's gaze. "On Thor's coronation, you invited frost giants into Asgard and Thor took you, the Warriors Three, and Sif to Jötunheim to sort of return the favour. Odin cast him out for starting a war and fell into Odinsleep when you cornered him about being Jötun. You took the throne, sent the Destroyer to Earth after Sif and the Warriors Three to make sure Thor never came back. He sacrificed himself to make the Destroyer leave without killing anyone else and Mjölnir returned to him. He returned to Asgard, destroyed the Bifröst to keep it from destroying Jötunheim, and you fell after it into... I don't know. Space?"

"The Void," Loki replied absently, staring at Tom like he couldn't quite decide what to do with him. "I would see this...film."

"It's not out," Tom admitted and Loki's eyes narrowed. "We only just finished shooting last week! There's still all the editing to be done, and that'll take some months."

" 'We'," Loki repeated, eyes still narrowed. He took a step forward, crowding Tom against the wall, and took Tom's chin in one hand.

Tom swallowed. "I played you."

Loki's lips thinned and he turned and took a couple of steps away before turning back to face Tom, the green flame in his hand dancing as though it wasn't being moved. "What is your point?" he demanded. "You search me out, you tell me of these things, and for what? Would you have me _apologise_?"

Tom let out a bark of laughter and covered his mouth, eyes wide in surprise. They were both silent for a moment, staring, until Tom removed his hand from over his mouth and said. "No. I just– Stop. The–the–" he waved his hand, encompassing the alley, the entire situation. "The attacking people." He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax when Loki's eyes narrowed, but he remained beyond arms reach. "I know you're hurt, and you want everyone else to hurt, too–"

"Don't assume to _know_ me–"

"I'm _not_ ," Tom snapped, nights spent sobbing next to the toilet flashing in his eyes. "You think I don't have days where I want to punch everyone who thinks to laugh near me? You taught me everything I could ever _think_ to know about wanting to watch others in pain. And you know what? I landed a couple good hits in the gym, brought my trainer down on the mats, but I didn't feel any better. I just felt _worse_ , because the _last_ thing I want it so see someone else in pain!"

Loki turned away. "What do _I_ care for the pains of some morta–"

"And you wondered why Odin didn't want you near the throne," Tom returned.

Loki spun in a motion almost too fast for Tom to track, silver flashing in the hand that wasn't holding the flame for a moment before a knife bloomed from the bricks next to Tom's head. Tom jerked to the side, away from the weapon, and looked to Loki with terror bright in his eyes.

Loki stared at him for a moment before vanishing in a flash of green light.

In the dark following Loki's departure, Tom sank down against the wall and curled around his shaking knees, forcing his breathing to steady, because _Oh God, oh God... How am I alive? Shit, Tom, what were you **thinking**? Oh my God..._

It took him some minutes for his body to steady, then he uncurled enough to feel around in the direction he thought his mobile had gone. He found it easily enough and it turned on, though there was a minute crack at the top of the screen. He flashed it around the alley, looking for anyone else, but came up blank; if Loki had been attacking someone before he'd come, that person had fled.

As he rose and turned to leave, his quasi-torchlight flashed against the knife held tight in the brick wall. Tom paused for a moment, then reached out and tugged it free, figuring it was better if no one else picked up the weapon. He had some training with knives – though he could never have managed the accuracy that Loki had – and while it was heavier and sharper than he was used to, it was of a familiar shape. He slipped it into a pocket, sparing a hope that it wouldn't damage the coat, then made his way home to take a couple sleep pills and crash.

-0-

He was woken the next morning when his front door opened and he stumbled to his bedroom door to find Emma and a couple friends trying to sneak in. "Yeah?" he called, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"We didn't mean to wake you, mate," one of his friends offered apologetically. "Just heard you were a bit sick and thought to bring you something." He held up a covered pot, Emma and their other friend holding up similarly covered dishes next to him.

Tom blinked at them for a moment before smiling. "Thanks," he returned and they all smiled back."I'm feeling better today, but it's appreciated. Truly."

"Not too much better if you're just getting up," Emma replied with a hint of concern. "It's nearly eleven."

Tom glanced towards the nearest clock and grimaced. "Ah. Healing sleep? Let me get a shirt..." He turned and returned to his bedroom to do so as his friends and sister moved around in the kitchen.

They had a lovely lunch and Tom felt even more the better for the company. Their two friends left after the food was finished, toting their own dishes back to their homes, while Tom and Emma settled in to wash Emma's pot and load up Tom's dishwasher with everything else they used.

"What happened?" Emma asked while she dried the lid, Tom scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot on the pot.

"Happened?" Tom replied absently.

Emma touched his throat and Tom flinched violently away, splashing soapy water everywhere and hands dripping water on the floor where he'd stopped away from the sink. "Tom?" Emma breathed, and when he met her wide eyes, he could see her analysing whatever had caught her attention on his neck, his reaction to her touch, and the sudden blondness of his hair. "Tell me you didn't go out looking for that guy," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

Tom looked away, because he knew he was a shoddy liar, always had been.

"Oh my God. Tom, _why_?" She grabbed his upper arms and shook him a bit. "He could have killed you! He could have–" Her mouth clicked shut and her fingers tightened against his arms.

Tom swallowed. "Before I left for America, I got attacked. He let me go. I didn't know it was the same guy until a couple days ago."

Emma let out a quiet sob and leaned forward against his chest. Tom wrapped her in a hug and sighed against her hair. This was why he hadn't wanted to tell anyone in his family; the last thing he'd wanted was to cause any of them upset.

Emma pushed back after a moment and pinned Tom with a sharp look through wet eyes. "Have you gone to the police yet? If you know _anything_ , Tom–"

Tom shook his head. "It won't help."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Why, that they'll never catch me, of course," a smooth, too familiar voice said from behind Tom.

Emma let out a startled sound while Tom spun, keeping himself between his sister and the smirking god sitting on his table. "Get. Out," he managed through gritted teeth.

Loki's smirk widened. "Make me," he challenged.

Tom swallowed, knew there wasn't much he could do to make a _god_ do _anything_. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Oh my God," Emma breathed, staring at her brother's twin from around his arm.

"Exactly." Loki slid off the table and leaned back against it, the very picture of nonchalance. "Do you honestly expect me to give an answer to you, little mortal?"

"Who is he?" Emma whispered.

"Loki."

"Loki. Like– What, like from that film?"

Tom nodded, not looking away from the smirking god.

"He's _real_? Emma squeaked.

"I'm _very_ real," Loki purred, stalking forward.

Tom pulled away from Emma and stepped forward to meet Loki, more concerned with keeping the god away from his sister than in keeping himself away. "You leave her alone."

"Or what?" Loki asked, stepping purposefully into Tom's space. Tom stiffened and Loki's smile turned just a hint nasty.

Tom took a steadying breath. "Not 'what'," he said quietly, "but 'why'."

Loki narrowed his eyes, amusement bleeding from them quicker than blood from a gaping wound. " 'Why'," he repeated, voice hinting at violence, and Emma let out a quiet sound of fear behind Tom. "I have no need for _why_."

"Why don't you?" Tom returned.

"I am a _god_ –"

"Not here, not now," Tom said. "You're a _myth_ , a villain in a comic book–"

Loki's hand encircled Tom's throat and Emma shouted, " _Tom_!" Tom held out a hand to keep her back, out of the line of fire.

"You will mind your tongue," Loki snarled.

"Truth hurts," Tom replied and Emma moaned.

Loki tightened his grip around Tom's throat and the mortal grabbed the god's wrist, echoing their last meeting. "I begin to believe you have a wish for death."

Tom shook his head. "You won't...kill me," he managed to get out, certain. Because Loki had let him go twice, was in his flat instead of out on the streets, taking his anger out on unsuspecting humans.

Loki let out an angry sound and pulled away, disappearing with a flash of green light.

Tom leaned over and took a moment to catch his breath, feeling Emma rush to his side. "I'm okay," he whispered and flinched when she touched his neck.

"Let's put some ice on that before it bruises even more," Emma said, sounding on the edge of tears.

Tom straightened and grimaced at her. "Sorry."

Emma let out a heavy breath and turned to pull out some ice. When she brought it back over, Tom took it from her and held it to what he thought the worst of the damage was. "How is he real?" she asked.

Tom shook his head. "I wish I knew," he replied quietly, making his way over to the table and pulling out a chair to sit down.

"He's the rapist/murderer," Emma said, eyes wide.

"Yeah."

"And you're _taunting_ him!" Emma shouted. "He's killed _ninety people_ , Tom! You can't–"

"He won't kill me," Tom said quietly.

"You _can't know that_!"

Tom met her angry, tear-filled eyes calmly and stated, "He won't kill me."

Emma deflated and dropped into the chair next to her brother. "How do you know?" she whispered, pleading.

"I don't–" Tom started, then stopped, realising he _did_ know why the god hadn't killed him. "He can't kill himself," he murmured. "He kills humans because he thinks we're beneath him, that we're not worth his time, and that'll hold true for anyone on this planet. But me, I share his face, his voice; I spent six months getting so far in his head that I _know_ him, I know him like he knows himself. And that fascinates him as much as it scares him–"

Emma laughed a little brokenly. "Scared, Tom?"

Tom nodded, certain. "He's terrified. He's been thrown into a world where he doesn't exist, but there's me, his doppelganger, and he doesn't know which of us is real. And I know what hurts him; for six months, I've been learning everything about him, but he's been trying to pretend I didn't exist, that I was just a figment of the– the Void, or whatever he called it." Tom blinked a few times. "Oh."

"What?"

"That's why he was here," Tom murmured, moving the ice to another part of his throat. "He's trying to learn about me."

"Why can't he just go back to his world?" Emma said, rubbing at her eyes. "No one wants him here."

Tom busied himself with the ice, not responding because he wasn't sure whether he wanted the god around or not; Loki had hurt him – had nearly ruined his life – but his actions had ended up making Tom all the better for the part he'd set to play, and as much as he never wanted to see Loki again, he wanted to help him, because he knew the god's pain as well as he knew his own.

Emma nodded to herself and stood. "Come on; we're going out."

"No, Em–"

"Come on, no arguing," Emma ordered, hoisting her brother up by his elbow. "You need to get out of this flat; I bet some sunlight will do you a world of good."

Tom sighed and let his sister direct him around, resigned to his fate and glad she was moving on from thoughts of Loki, though he'd little doubt she would get home that night and cry under her covers, possibly calling Sarah, which would have their elder sister calling Tom ridiculously early tomorrow morning. (He couldn't wait.)

Emma forced him to take her shopping and they played tourists a bit, as they had a few times as teenagers during summer holidays. When Tom finally got home after seeing his sister to her flat, it was just inching on towards dinnertime and he still had a dirty pot sitting in his sink.

Tom sighed and refilled the sink to finish the washing up, then made himself something simple and fell in to bed to sleep, pleasantly exhausted after a day spent running all over London.

He woke in a rush some hours after he'd fallen asleep, uncertain what had pulled him from dreams. He was just reaching for his mobile, thinking it might have been the expected call from Sarah, when he registered the presence standing over him. He rolled away, reaching for where he'd left Loki's knife in the drawer on the other side of the bed, but a firm hand grabbed his bicep and held him fast.

"Desist," that too-familiar voice ordered.

Tom didn't relax, but he did stop fighting the hold on his arm. "Loki," he whispered, showing that he recognised his guest. And then, because he could, "Please stop sneaking into my flat."

"No." Loki let him go and a flicker of green flame appeared in his hand, showing the god staring down at Tom like he wasn't quite certain how to treat him.

Tom sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "What do you want, Loki? And why are you waking me up at– What time _is_ it, anyway?" He reached for his mobile, reminding himself for the fourth time since his old clock had broken en route from America that he needed a new one for his bedroom.

"What use have _I_ –"

"Midnight. I hate you," Tom informed the god, ignoring his speech about not needing to tell the time, or whatever pompous thing he was planning to spout this time. He put his mobile back on the bedside table and purposefully turned his back on Loki. "Whatever you want, come back in the morning; I'm expecting a ring from Sarah in about five hours, and I intend to get some more sleep before then."

"You won't sleep while I'm here," Loki commented.

Tom sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth because, yeah, there was no way he could relax enough to sleep while Loki was standing behind him. "What do you _want_ , then?"

The mattress dipped beneath Tom and he scrambled for the other side of the bed before turning to glare at where Loki was kneeling. Loki flashed him a cruel little smile before blanking his expression and saying, "I would make a bargain with you."

"I'm not sure I trust you enough for that," Tom returned.

"It is the law of Æsir that we are bound by our word once writ in blood."

"You're not Æsir," Tom reminded him, not unkindly.

Loki's jaw tensed for a moment before he smiled coldly. "I am not, but this is born of Idunn's apples, a magic which looks beyond species to impart its laws."

Tom considered that; he'd never heard of the golden apples forcing a god to honour all oaths written in blood, but he knew oaths were important to the Vikings and their gods, from what he'd read of mythology and the _Thor_ comics. "What's the bargain?"

"I will avoid seeking out harm against mortals while you allow my presence for six months."

"...why?" Tom asked, frowning, because there had to be a catch.

"You spent six months learning me, I would have the favour returned."

 _Right._ Tom took a breath before nodding. "Okay. I'll take your bargain."

Loki smiled with mischief. "This pleases me," he replied and pulled away from the bed.

Tom felt a sudden rush of exhaustion, then he was waking to the sound of his phone singing along on his bedside table. He fumbled for it and hit the button to answer before holding it to his ear. " 'Lo," he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

 _"Tom,"_ Sarah breathed on the other end and it sounded like she'd been crying before she rang.

Tom held back a sigh and sat up against his headboard, settling in for a long conversation that waffled between his elder sister worrying over him, and being angry that he'd kept the attack from her. It took him a good forty minutes to talk her around, and he'd been forced to swear he'd let her know right away the next time something anywhere near so life altering occurred, but they rang off easier for the talk.

Tom took a moment to settle his thoughts, then pushed out of his bed and went about relieving his bladder and changing for the day, wondering where Loki had got to. He sort of remembered something about a bargain and a magical oath, but he couldn't remember specifics and wasn't certain if it had really happened.

When Tom stepped out of his bedroom, he stopped and stared at where Loki was hunched over the dining table, a scroll covered in brown and red spread out in front of him. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Writing my oath," Loki returned shortly. "Have you finally ceased in prattling with your girlfriend?"

"Sister," Tom corrected as he moved closer and looked over the unfamiliar runes Loki had been writing out. "I don't have a girlfriend. Is that...blood?" he asked as he caught sight of the small bowl Loki had appropriated from his cabinets and filled with a thick red liquid.

"Of course it is, you _idiot_ ," Loki snapped, sparing him a quick glare before he returned to tracing out more runes with a calligraphy pen. "Go away."

Tom shuffled into the kitchen, not much interested in further annoying the god when he was working with blood and magical oaths. He glanced at his options for breakfast, debated for a moment about making Loki a serving, then set to work making enough for two people; there was no harm in trying to put the god in a good mood, especially if he was remembering correctly that he'd pretty much invited Loki to live with him last night.

When he brought out the food, Loki had sat back from his parchment and was looking it over critically. Tom stopped behind him, a plate in each hand, and made a mental note to pull up a runic-to-Roman-characters guide later so he could translate the oath. Assuming it translated directly into English.

"What?" Loki demanded, turning to glare up at the mortal.

Tom held out one of the plates. "Breakfast?"

Loki's expression blanked. "What?" he asked, less angry and more uncertain.

"I made some for you. If you want it," Tom explained, resisting the urge to cheer at having blocked Loki's ire.

Loki took the plate and turned back to the table, staring at the food while Tom walked around the table and carefully settled down across from the god. He'd just raised his fork to start eating when Loki narrowed his eyes and snapped, "What could you possibly hope to gain by giving me sustenance?"

Tom sighed and set his fork back against his plate. "What do I have to gain by alienating you?" he returned as neutrally as he could, reminding himself that Loki very likely wasn't used to people being nice to him without ulterior motives.

Loki looked for a moment like he might respond to that, but he looked away in the end and picked up his own fork to poke at the food. Tom followed suit and they ate in one of the most uncomfortable silences Tom could remember ever being part of.

When they were both finished, Tom collected the dishes and returned them to the kitchen, Loki watching him with sharp eyes. Once the dishes were in the dishwasher, Tom leaned against the wall dividing kitchen and dining room and nodded towards the scroll. "Do I need to do something similar?" he asked, because he'd never made a bargain with a god before and had no idea how it worked.

Loki glanced back at the scroll and snorted. "This is to bind my word, as you have not the power to see to punishing my lies; should you attempt to renege on your end, I will easily make you regret it." He turned a nasty smile on Tom that made the mortal take a step back in fear. "It is to your interest, I think, to allow my presence."

Tom swallowed. "Right. What, exactly, does your oath entail?" he asked, figuring he could still do a translation later, assuming Loki didn't run off with the scroll.

Loki frowned. "It is as I said last night."

"Last night's a little fuzzy," Tom admitted, because honestly was always the best policy. Especially when you were dealing with the God of Lies. "I know I said you could stay with me for...six months?" Loki nodded, eyes narrowed. "I think you said something about not hurting people. Well, humans. Mortals."

"I will avoid looking to harm mortals," Loki agreed, oddly quiet, given Tom's previous interactions with him. "Should one think to act against me first, I will see to it that they don't try such again."

"Okay. So, no more raping and murdering in alleys?" Tom clarified.

Loki let out an irritated sound. "Is that not what I just said?"

Tom nodded. "I'm mortal," he pointed out.

Loki bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. "You are most vexing," he commented in far too friendly a tone.

Tom took that as an agreement that Loki wouldn't attempt to throttle him any more and relaxed. "Right. So, can I set a couple ground rules?"

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Of what sort?"

Tom fought the urge to tense again, because knowing Loki wasn't going to attack him didn't really calm him when the god looked murderous. "I'd like to keep you away from Emma as much as possible; you two meeting again won't end well for anyone."

"The girl from yesterday?" Loki asked and Tom nodded. "I will disallow her sight of me," he decided.

"My bedroom is off-limits once I've turned in for the night," Tom said.

Loki's lips curled with a nasty smile and he slowly rose from his chair. "For what purpose?" he nearly purred.

"I don't want you that close to me while I'm sleeping," Tom replied, heart thudding in his chest.

Loki took a step forward and Tom couldn't help but take a step back. When Loki's smile widened and he kept coming, Tom forced himself to remain still until the god was standing directly in front of him, one hand held just shy of the mortal's cheek. "I can do you no harm," the god murmured, and it sounded more like a threat than a reminder of peace.

Tom took a sense of security in the words anyway and repeated, "I don't want you that close to me while I'm sleeping," in a firm tone.

Loki let out a breath of a laugh and pressed his hand to Tom's cheek, eyes glinting when the mortal flinched. "As you will," he agreed. "When you declare yourself to be retreating for the night, I will remain on this side of the door until you have awakened."

"...good," Tom decided, not sure he trusted the god, but unable to think of any way to force Loki to keep to that promise.

"Have you any other of your 'ground rules'?" Loki murmured, still standing nearly chest-to-chest, his fingers trailing across Tom's cheek and along his jaw.

Tom got the sense that ducking Loki or pushing him away would only make the god touch him more, so he held still and replied, "No." He almost wanted to make a rule about Loki touching him, but he knew the god wouldn't follow it; protecting Emma and ensuring his sleep was more important, and he would take what he could get.

"Excellent," Loki purred and his hand firmed around Tom's chin, holding the mortal in place as the god pressed their lips together.

Tom froze for a moment, then reached up and shoved at the god, but Loki held steady for another long moment before pulling back, expression smug as he licked his lips. Tom stumbled a couple of steps backwards before he caught himself against the worktop and wiped a hand over his mouth. "What the hell!?"

"What is it you mortals say?" Loki returned, so obviously pleased with himself. " 'Sealed with a kiss'?"

Tom pointed a shaking finger at him. "Do _not_ do that again. Ever."

Loki laughed. "No, no, my sweet fool, you have already said there were no further 'ground rules'." He moved with inhuman speed until he had Tom pressed back against the cabinets and worktop, once again in the mortal's space. "I do as I please."

Tom leaned back, away from the god, and felt behind him with one hand for the knife he'd used on the tomatoes for their breakfast, pretty sure it was nearby. He lucked out as Loki grabbed for his chin again and held the blade between his face and the god's. "Stop. Right now," he ordered, voice shaking.

Loki considered the knife for a moment, amusement glinting in green eyes, before pulling back. "Very well," he agreed, tone patronising.

Tom relaxed slightly, but he didn't put the knife down until Loki had left the kitchen entirely, starting to clean up the objects he'd used for his oath. When he picked up the scroll, Tom moved to the line between kitchen and dining room and called, "Could I see that?"

Loki looked back at him, glanced between Tom's empty hands, and smirked when the mortal tensed. "What use have you for this?" he asked, holding up the scroll. "You cannot read it." His eyes narrowed, amusement sliding off his face. "Or was that a lie?"

Tom shook his head. "I can't read runes," he hurried to assure the god. "I just...I wanted to try translating it?"

Loki shrugged, expression blanking, and he held the scroll out. "As you please," he agreed.

Tom took the scroll, then retreated with it to his bedroom. He set the scroll next to his laptop, then pulled out Loki's knife and considered his options for where to put it so he could keep it on him; next time Loki decided to get in his space, Tom wanted to have a weapon on his person. There weren't a lot of options, not with how sharp the blade was, and Tom was just thinking he'd have to go out to a specialty shop to find some sort of sheath when Loki appeared in the doorway.

"I demand you amuse me," Loki said before catching sight of what Tom was holding. His eyes narrowed briefly, then he smiled. "Oh? Did I forget something?"

"Finders, keepers," Tom immediately returned, pointing the knife at the god.

Loki's smile widened and he stepped into the room and towards the mortal. He stopped just shy of the knife's point and motioned with one hand. Green sparkled between his fingers, then he held out a black sheath. When Tom didn't immediately take it, gaze suspicious, Loki rolled his eyes. "A gift, fool. Unless you _want_ to chance cutting yourself. Assuming you won't cut yourself anyway." His lips curled with a mean smile.

Tom took the sheath and slipped the knife into it, then put it in his back pocket. "Thanks," he allowed. Then, remembering what the god had come in demanding, asked, "Did you have anything in mind? For amusement?"

Loki sniffed. "I wouldn't know how mortals amuse themselves."

"What did you do for the last six months?" Tom replied. "Actually, no. I don't want to know," he decided as Loki opened his mouth. The god smirked at him. "Well, most humans have work or school during the day. There's always touring around London, which is what Emma and I did yesterday. You could read a book, watch a bit of telly, maybe use a computer?"

"What would you do were I not here?" Loki returned.

"Go for a run," Tom said without pause.

Loki scowled. "How is that amusing?"

"You didn't ask for amusing, you asked what I'd be doing if you weren't here," Tom pointed out. "I usually wake up and go for a run. It's relaxing."

"Physical exertion is never _relaxing_ ," Loki snarled.

Tom shrugged. "Calming, then. It gives me space to organise my thoughts, and I get to see the city and people while I'm out."

Loki snorted. "You talk often of seeing this city."

"I like London," Tom returned a little defensively. "It's my home."

Something uncertain flickered across Loki's face before he blanked his expression. "How _sentimental_ ," he spat, the word sounding like a curse.

"What is there to live for but what you hold dear?" Tom asked.

Loki jerked like Tom had hit him, then vanished in a flash of green light.

Tom sighed; he was beginning to get the idea that the god left when he'd hit on a nerve, and he wished Loki would stop running away. "Nothing for it," he decided quietly and hunted down his running clothing, thinking it sounded like a good idea to clear his mind a bit before he had to deal with the god again.

-0-

Loki didn't show up for the rest of the day, though Tom regularly felt like he was being watched. He settled in to translate Loki's oath after his run and found it to say, essentially, what the god had promised, so at least Loki hadn't lied about that. After he was finished with that, he went out to the shops for a couple things he hadn't picked up in the days since his return to London that he would likely need soon, including a new alarm clock. When he made dinner, he left a plate in the kitchen for his guest and found it empty when he had finished his food, proving that the god wasn't as gone as he pretended to be.

When Tom finally decided to head for bed, he paused in his room doorway and called, "Good night, Loki."

The god shimmered into view on the couch, scowling. "You are a poor source of amusement," he insisted.

"Next time stick around and you can make suggestions," Tom replied before stepping into his room and closing the door behind him.

-0-

Loki was sleeping on the couch when Tom came out the next morning and he stopped to stare at the god for a long moment, surprised to find him in so vulnerable a position. Not that Loki looked particularly vulnerable, given his Asgardian clothing and the aura of restrained violence that he exuded even while sleeping, but the lines born of anger and hatred that were usually deep around his eyes had smoothed over, and he looked almost peaceful.

Tom rubbed a hand over his mouth and snuck toward the kitchen to make them both some breakfast. He'd tracked down Loki hoping to stop his attacks on humans, and he had that, sort of, which was good. But, when he'd been running yesterday, Tom had realised that he also wanted to help Loki, show him that his species and propensity for mayhem didn't make him a monster, that he didn't _need_ to be cruel to people. And seeing Loki asleep on his couch, looking almost peaceful, solidified that passing thought.

Now Tom just had to figure out how to help someone who both set him on edge, and who didn't want to be helped.

"Should be fun," Tom whispered as the eggs bubbled away in the pan he was standing over.

Loki was sitting up and blinking sleepily as Tom brought the plates out. The god's expression immediately turned guarded and Tom resisted the urge to sigh. "Breakfast?" he offered instead, setting the plates on the table.

Loki sort of stared at Tom for a long moment before rising and joining him at the table. They ate in silence, which the god broke when Tom rose with their plates. "I would see this city, as you find it so fascinating."

Tom nodded. "Okay. But–" he waved a hand at Loki's clothing, "–you can't go out dressed like that."

"There is nothing wrong with my clothing," Loki snapped.

"In Asgard, sure," Tom agreed in a voice he forced to remain steady. "But this is Earth, and if you go out like that, people are going to stare."

Loki considered that for a moment before nodding. His clothing shimmered green and gold before morphing into something more like what Tom was wearing, and wasn't it odd to see the god in jeans? "Is this acceptable?"

Tom blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, that should work," he agreed and finished putting the dirty dishes away.

"Someone will wonder at our similarities," Loki pointed out.

Tom shrugged. "They'll assume we're twins, and if my friends ask, I'll figure out something to tell them; it's not really an issue."

"As you say," Loki allowed.

-0-

They spent the rest of the week touring London. Loki spent most of it looking bored or irritated, but Tom caught the god looking interested a couple of time before he caught himself and reapplied his mask, so he knew Loki was enjoying himself at least a little. Tom dragged Loki along with his mates Saturday evening, laughing off comments at their similarities and generally having a good time. Tom stuck to water for the most part, less inclined towards getting drunk after he'd been attacked, and even less interested while the God of Mischief was tagging along. Loki seemed to enjoy himself, if his lessened complaints about idiotic mortals was anything to go by, so Tom marked the night as a success and made a note to do it again.

Sunday morning, he was woken by the front door of his flat slamming open and Emma shouting, " _You_!"

Tom stumbled to his bedroom door and pulled it open to see his sister standing in the open doorway of his flat, staring at the empty couch. "Emma," he offered carefully.

Emma turned angry eyes on him and slammed the door closed. "What's this I hear about you taking a clone out last night?" she demanded. "And was that just–"

"Please calm down?" Tom tried.

"Calm down? Why would I want to calm down when you're spending time with that _frea_ –"

" _Stop_ ," Tom ordered and Emma fell silent, blinking in surprise. "Don't– Please don't call him names. Okay?"

Emma stared at him for a long moment before quietly saying, "Tom, what's going on?"

Tom let out a breath he hadn't really realised he'd been holding and leaned against the doorway. "Loki and I made a deal: He stops attacking humans, I let him stay with me for six months. He was bored, so I took him on a tour of London and out to the pub." He sighed. "I should have warned you."

"Yeah, you really should have," Emma agreed, voice biting. "I bet you didn't tell Sarah, either." Tom shook his head. "She is going to have your _head_."

"Yeah, I know." Tom rubbed a hand over his mouth and pushed away from the doorframe. "Have you eaten?"

"Not really," Emma admitted.

Tom nodded and moved to the kitchen to make them all something simple – he had no doubt that Loki had just turned himself invisible again.

"Where is he?" Emma asked as Tom pulled out the makings for oatmeal.

Tom shrugged. "He promised to stay out of your sight."

"But where is he?" Emma repeated.

"I don't know," Tom replied, only a slight lie; his sister didn't need to know that the god was likely in the room with them.

"He just vanishes and you don't care?"

"I trust him."

"You _trust_ him. Tom, he _attacked you_. He killed–"

"Ninety people. I know." Tom sighed. "But he can't right now, he gave his oath." He handed over her bowl and motioned for her to precede him from the kitchen, which she did with a frown. "It trust him to behave without me watching him," he allowed as they sat down at the table. "I don't really trust him to behave while I can see him."

Emma blinked a few times. "Was that supposed to make sense?"

"I haven't decided yet."

They watched each other for a long moment before they both laughed and turned their attention to their oatmeal.

"What are you going to do next week?" Emma asked after a few minutes. "Don't you have something for the Spielberg film?"

Tom nodded. "I don't know yet. It's mostly the riding camp, right now; I don't know if he has interest in that."

"Or if he can behave himself," Emma muttered and Tom sighed.

They both fell silent for a good few minutes before Emma started updating Tom on their father, who she'd spent the past couple of days with. She remained for a couple hours, talking about light topics. When she finally made for the door, she said, "I should very much like to kick him."

"Loki?" Tom asked and she nodded, frowning. "That's why I didn't want you seeing him," he admitted.

"He'd deserve it," Emma insisted and Tom shrugged. She sighed. "Call Sarah before I do it for you."

Tom grimaced. "I'll ring her as soon as you leave," he promised, not looking forward to that conversation.

"I'm leaving," Emma replied and let Tom see her out.

As soon as the door had closed behind the younger Hiddleston, Loki asked, "Riding what?"

Tom turned and jumped at finding the god standing directly behind him, eyes narrowed. "Please don't do that," he requested, leaning back against the door. Loki flashed him a smirk. "Horses," Tom answered before the god could get any ideas.

Loki blinked. "You cannot ride a horse," he stated blandly.

"I can ride a horse," Tom insisted before looking away. "Just, not so well that I can lead a cavalry charge."

Loki huffed. "And you are to be taught."

"Yeah. It's a little over a month, the training camp. I'm not sure if you want to come along or–"

"I will attend with you," Loki replied, waving a negligent hand. "If your teachers are poor, I will teach you myself."

Tom blinked. "Okay."

Loki sniffed. "Where are you dragging me today?"

"...the zoo?" Tom suggested, because his mind was already on animals.

"Very well."

Tom called Sarah before they left and sat through a less-than-fun conversation, ignoring Loki's attempts to get him to put down the phone so they could do something less boring. Finally, Tom was able to hang up and they made for the nearest zoo. Loki ended up really liking it, judging by the way he was honestly smiling after about six minutes through the front gate and didn't bother hiding it. Over ice cream, Tom wondered, "Are you having fun?"

Loki shot him a sharp look, then relaxed when Tom just smiled calmly at him. "I am fond of animals. They do not react to my tricks as the Æsir or mortals do."

"Their lives are simple," Tom commented. "I'm a bit jealous of them, sometimes, with their lack of worries. It would be nice to sit in the sun all day and nap."

"They would say the same of you, with your lack of cages and predators," Loki returned.

Tom looked up at the cloudy sky. "Our cages are bigger, but humans are still held by jobs or what they can afford, and we prey on our own kind easily enough," he commented quietly and shook his head. "The grass is always greener."

Loki frowned at that for a long moment before standing from the bench they'd stopped at. "Let us continue."

"Okay," Tom agreed and they kept on, Tom shaking off the sense of melancholy quickly enough. They ended their visit in high spirits and went for a film before dinner, which Loki rolled his eyes at while Tom gushed about little things until Loki ordered him to shut up. In all, it wasn't a bad end to their first week living together.

-0-

When they arrived at the ranch Monday morning, Loki invisible to other humans – Tom wasn't sure he believed the god until they arrived and no one made mention of his tag-along – they got right into things. Tom was mostly okay with the horses, but Loki loved them, and they seemed to adore him, judging by how they crowded him, nickering greetings and nosing against his Earth-style clothing. Tom left his flatmate with the horses while he spoke with his trainers, hiding a smile when he heard them commenting on the odd actions of the herd.

The first week at the ranch, Loki remained almost solely with the horses, and most of the horses stayed with him, though those that were needed by the humans trotted over whenever they were needed. (Tom suspected the god could communicate with the horses and told them to go, but it was hardly something he could explain to his trainers, who were just befuddled about everything.)

The Monday of the next week, though, Tom was startled out of greeting his horse, Civilon, when the god appeared rather suddenly at his side. "Loki," Tom hissed, eyeing the nearest of the trainers, "don't _do_ that."

"You startle entirely too easily," Loki returned drily as he brushed a hand up Civilon's nose, green sparking at his fingers.

"Do I want to know what you're doing?" Tom wondered, not expecting an answer.

Indeed, Loki just shot him a smirk and continued running his hand along Civilon's neck, just to the side of his mane. Civilon seemed to enjoy the treatment, judging by how he leaned into Loki's touch, so Tom sighed and left the god to it. Not that he could have stopped him.

The god spent the day watching Tom with Civilon, which was rather nerve-wracking for the human. The trainers seemed confused as to Tom's sudden nerves, but every time he caught sight of Loki, the god was smirking at him.

"I don't know why you like him so much," Tom said to Civilon during a break, and the horse tossed his head in response. Tom sighed and ran his hand up the horse's nose, much as Loki had done earlier. "I don't know why I like him either," he admitted and Civilon nudged him with his nose.

When they got back to the flat and were eating the take-out Tom had made them stop for on their way back in to London, Loki started giving Tom suggestions about his form and how Civilon would react to different unspoken commands. It was only then that Tom actually understood why the god had stood around and watched him all day and he relaxed a bit, asking questions about suggestions that confused him.

Loki continued watching for the next couple weeks, making suggestions over dinner, which Tom would work on following the next day. Riding became notably easier with Loki as an extra trainer, and Tom's human trainers didn't let his sudden competence go unremarked.

"Civilon and I just connected," Tom insisted when the change was mentioned to him.

Loki's help did mean that no one thought to complain when Tom had to spend a couple weeks in Paris to shoot his scenes for _Midnight in Paris_ in the middle of the riding camp. Loki had complained a bit at losing two weeks with the horses and having to sit around while Tom acted, but he found his own amusements and Tom ended up telling him off at least three times for 'accidents' on set that had the god's name written all over them. (Not that telling him off kept Loki from mischief, but he was notably subtler the next time, and no one got hurt during any of the 'accidents'.)

The last couple weeks of the riding camp went well, and then they were off to do the shooting for the actual film. Loki was much better behaved on set for _War Horse_ , and though Tom never asked why, he suspected it was because the horses kept the god entertained.

-0-

Part way through September, during a particularly nasty rash of weather, Loki found Tom huddled under a tarp, shivering in his soaked uniform. "You absolute idiot," the god muttered, brushing a drying spell across the mortal's shoulders as he came to stand behind him.

Tom leaned back against the god, soaking up the minor heat he put off as compared to the weather and thinking about how he would have been out of his seat and back out in the rain, had Loki been so close to him three months ago. Somewhere between Loki helping him with riding a horse and travelling southern England with the god and his co-workers, Tom had got used to having Loki nearby. That wasn't to say that he didn't jump if Loki showed up unexpectedly – Civilon would try to warn him when Loki approached, but if Tom wasn't near the horse, he'd jump and Loki would cackle – or that he didn't beat a hasty retreat when the god got that gleam in his eyes that preceded him getting in Tom's space and making sexual overtures – Tom _really_ wished the god would just _stop_ – but he was more willing to allow contact between them than he had been when Loki first moved in.

"Why are we even here if it's too wet to film?" Loki muttered, pressing a spell of warmth into the mortal.

"It's not too wet to film," Tom insisted. Which wasn't _entirely_ true, because it was raining too hard for them to get anything done at that moment, but they'd caught a couple good shots, and Steven was hoping to get at least another couple in before they called it a night. And then, because he knew the god would know, Tom asked, "How is Civilon?"

"Wet," Loki replied drily. "All of the horses are. But they're not quite so bad off as you, I think," he decided as Tom sneezed.

"Shut up," Tom mumbled, the warming spell making him sleepy.

"If you fall asleep, I will do with you as I please," Loki promised.

Tom jerked up and away from the god. "Don't you _dare_ ," he hissed, glaring over his shoulder.

Loki flashed him a smirk. "Best not to give me the opportunity, then," he suggested before turning and leaving for the horse enclosure, the rain sliding off an invisible shield around him as he went.

Tom huffed and returned his attention to the tarp set off across the way, where Steven Spielberg and other members of the crew were huddled around a computer, watching for coming breaks in the storm which they could prepare for. Near the directing tarp was another tarp where most of the actors were huddled; Tom would usually be over there, joking with Ben and Patrick, but he'd been caught out in the loo when the clouds had opened again, and this tarp had been the nearest. And he couldn't really complain at the lack of companionship, not since he was drier and warmer with the spells Loki had cast, something the god wouldn't have done had Tom been with other actors.

Tom blinked at his thoughts and looked back towards the horses. _He warned me,_ he realised. _He actually **warned me** that he might do something I wouldn't like._ Loki had never given warning before, preferred to just take what he wanted and damn anyone else's feelings on the matter. Tom had been caught against a wall or door at least half a dozen times when the god decided he wanted to kiss him – Tom was never certain if Loki did it to freak him out, or if he honestly desired the show of affection, as unwilling as Tom was to take part – and there was never a warning, never a chance for Tom to get him to leave off until he'd fumbled his knife from whichever pocket he'd shoved it in that morning and pressed it to the god's chin. (Loki was always so amused, too, unafraid of the knife or Tom's conviction to use it, and would back away with a gleam in his eyes that made the hair on the back of Tom's neck stand on end.)

But the warning...it was new. It wasn't like Loki at all, and Tom spent the rest of the afternoon puzzling the oddity over.

Over a less-than-appetising dinner, Tom asked, "What happened?"

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. "Happened? It _rained_ ," he returned in that tone that said he was wondering about Tom's mental capabilities.

Tom leaned on one hand, elbow on the table, and considered the god until Loki was actually glaring at him, something he hadn't done much of in a couple of weeks, Tom realised. "What happened to 'I do as I please'?"

"I _do_ do as I please," Loki snarled. "Have I need to prove that to you?"

 _He's warning me,_ Tom recognised, and there was a theory forming in his mind, one which would be potentially hazardous for him to test, but no one ever got anywhere without taking chances. "Can you?" he asked.

Tom didn't even see Loki move, didn't even realise he was being shoved through the air until his back hit against the nearest wall, Loki pressed tight against his front. Panic had Tom reaching for his knife, the only security he had when Loki decided to get too close, but he paused when he realised that Loki hadn't done anything further. He was pressed against the wall, yes, but Loki was just standing there, watching him with the oddest turn to his lips, uncertainty in his eyes.

"You can't," Tom whispered, a statement of fact.

Loki jerked back and vanished in a flash of green.

Tom sighed and closed his eyes. "Why do you always run?" he asked the apparently empty room, because he didn't believe for one moment that the god had left.

But Loki didn't answer and Tom eventually pushed away from the wall and cleaned up their dinner. When he climbed into bed a couple hours later, he called, "Good night, Loki," and received no answer.

-0-

The next day, Loki was still nowhere to be seen and Tom wondered at it for a bit before getting distracted by filming. When he thought to look around again, it was nearing dinnertime and the god was still missing. He made a plate for Loki and left it out on the table, but it was still untouched when he went to bed, and was starting to smell a bit ripe when he woke the next morning.

Tom spent the second day of Loki missing looking for the god between takes. He asked Civilon about him, but the horse shook his head at the question and Tom took that as a no. (He'd have been more worried about how odd it looked for him to be asking actual questions of the horse if he hadn't seen others among the cast and crew doing much the same.)

He left dinner out again that night, and it remained untouched in the morning. "Loki, come on," he whispered over his breakfast, tired and worried. "Where are you?"

That day again passed without Loki showing up, as did the next one, and Tom finally took a chance and called his sister to see if she'd go by his flat and check there for the god. Emma wasn't pleased, but she did stop by.

 _"There's no sign of him, Tom,"_ she said when she called him back. _"Maybe this is a good thing, though. I mean, if he's gone, you can move on with things, you know?"_

"I can't just 'move on', Emma," Tom returned tiredly, pushing his untouched dinner around on his plate. "I'm worried about him."

_"Tom, this is not the person you should be worrying about. Loki can take care of himself."_

"I don't think he can," Tom insisted. "I mean, sure, he can overpower anyone who tries hurting him, and he's more than capable of fending for himself, but he can't... He's hurt. He's like, like a lion with a nasty cut; he needs help, but he doesn't want anyone to get close enough to see because they might just make it worse. Except Loki, his wounds are all internal, all emotional, and most people don't even know they're there, because he's so good at hiding them, but they're there, and they're just getting worse and worse and–"

 _"And you're the only person who can help him,"_ Emma cut in with a sigh.

"I don't know," Tom admitted. "I don't know if I _can_ help, but I'm the only one who's seen he's hurt, I think. I'm the only one he's let anywhere near close enough. And maybe I can help, but maybe I'm only going to make it worse. I don't know. But I want to try. I want to try because someone needs to, because he's hurting and I don't want to see him hurting."

 _"Because if he's better, he won't be hurting other people?"_ Emma suggested.

Tom pushed his plate away and leaned forward over the table. "A bit, yeah. I mean, yeah, that's how it started out, really. I just wanted him to stop attacking people, thought maybe I could get through to him. And I did, sort of, but not enough. And he would have just kept on if I hadn't been so interesting, I think. But I was, and he followed me home and made that oath and I thought, 'Okay, good, this is what I wanted'. Except then I spent time with him and it's not just about stopping him from hurting people any more; it's about helping him."

Emma sighed. _"I think this is a terrible idea, Tom."_

"I know. You don't like him."

 _"I only have reasons to hate him,"_ she corrected. _"But you know I love you, and I know how you can get about these things, so I'm going to tell you that I think this is a bad idea, but go for it. And I reserve the right to kick him in the nads if he hurts you again."_

Tom laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, okay. You might need some of those steel-toed shoes, though."

 _"Get me a pair for Christmas,"_ Emma returned and Tom snorted. _"I'll keep an eye out for him, okay? And I'll tell everyone else, too."_

"Thanks."

_"Go get some sleep, Tom. You sound a bit like you need it."_

"Yeah, I will," Tom agreed and rang off. He didn't head for bed, though, instead curling against the table and closing his eyes. "Loki," he whispered, "where are you?"

-0-

He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but he must have, because he woke to find himself in his bed, which he never recalled getting into. "Loki?" he called, sitting up. There was no response and he stumbled out of bed to look around the trailer for the god, but Loki was nowhere to be seen and he drooped against the nearest wall, closing his eyes. "Damn it," he whispered, voice catching.

It was a weekend, and he spent it wandering the nearest town a bit absently, half looking for Loki, half just trying to keep occupied.

That night, Tom had his first nightmare in almost two months, but it wasn't the same as in the past. Instead of being held against a wall, fingers wrapped around his throat and wrists, he was watching Loki walk away. He shouted for the god to stop, to come back, but Loki didn't seem to hear him, just kept on. And when Tom tried to run after him, the distance stretched and stretched until Loki was nothing more than a prick of green and black so far out of his reach that Tom could never hope to reach him.

He woke, gasping through tears, and covered his eyes. "Loki," he whispered. "Loki, _please_."

A hand touched his hair, a gentle touch that seemed rather like it would soothe him back to sleep, like magic. Tom blinked sleepily up at the dark form above him and it took him a moment to recognise the face and connect why it was important he _wake up_.

But remember he did and he grabbed for the hand in his hair. " _Loki_ ," he breathed and held on tight when the god tried to jerk his hand from Tom's grip.

"Let me go, you insufferable–"

"You're okay," Tom said and Loki fell silent. Tom pressed the god's hand against his cheek. "You're okay," he whispered again.

Loki settled uncertainly on the edge of the bed. "I am a _god_ ," he returned, but there was none of the usual bite in his words and his thumb brushed lightly against the line of liquid under Tom's eye, wiping it away.

"Gods can be hurt, too," Tom murmured, sleep pulling him back under, and he was nearly certain it was Loki's fault. "Stay," he whispered.

Loki let out an odd sound that Tom couldn't classify. "I will," he whispered back and Tom let whatever spell the god had woven drag him back into the arms of Morpheus.

-0-

When Tom again woke, he was alone in the bedroom, feeling oddly content to laze about in bed. Then he remembered seeing Loki in the night and stumbled out to the main part of the trailer, hoping, hoping–

Loki was standing in the tiny kitchen, glaring at the cereal options like they'd personally offended him.

Tom couldn't help the relieved grin that cracked his face and he called out, "Good _morning_ , Loki!" in something of an obnoxious tone.

Loki twitched and turned his glare on the human. "These options are unacceptable. Make me food."

Tom laughed and stepped into the kitchen. "Okay, okay. Hold on..."

Loki huffed and settled at the table to wait for food. Tom hummed as he worked and glanced over his shoulder a couple of times to see the god relaxing. Without the glare, he looked tired, bruises stark under his bright eyes, and more than a little starved under the too loose Earth clothing he'd adopted. Tom added another egg and some more toast for the god, honestly afraid that Loki hadn't eaten since he'd vanished six days ago.

Loki raised an eyebrow at the pile of food that Tom set before him, but he made no comment beyond a quick nod and started in on it, swallowing just fast enough that Tom thought, _Yeah, he hasn't eaten. Idiot._

He waited until the god was about finished before quietly asking, "Where have you been?"

Loki paused, eyes flickering up to look at the human before returning to his food. He shrugged and stuffed another forkful in his mouth.

"I was worried," Tom offered, watching the god for an opening, _any_ opening. Loki was simultaneously the most difficult person to read that Tom had ever come across, and the easiest.

"I cannot begin to understand why," Loki replied drily.

"You're my friend–" Tom started.

Loki cut him off with a sharp laugh, full of broken edges. "A _friend_? I have no friends, little fool, only passing interests. And, ah, what a _delicious_ interest you prove to be." He looked Tom up and down – what he could see of the human over the table – a gleam to his eyes that suggested he was mentally undressing him.

Tom swallowed, saw the deflection for what it was, and forced his voice to remain even as he stated, "I think of you as my friend, whether you consider the same of me or not. That's the beauty of friendship."

And, there, a flash of uncertainty, of _fear_ , flickered in Loki's eyes, only visible because they were watching each other. "I would remind you, little mortal," Loki said, voice acidic, "that I am none you would wish to make such claims towards. Certainly not where I might hear and be so tempted as to change your mind."

"You can't," Tom said with certainty, more relaxed after having been able to catch even so brief a read on the god. "Loki, you can't even _kiss me_."

"Oh, I can kiss you," Loki purred, standing from his seat and leaning menacingly over the table.

"Prove it," Tom challenged, and oh, God, he was playing with fire. What was he doing? This was going to end _so_ badly, and he _knew it_. "Kiss me."

Loki leaned across the table, jumper trailing against his empty plate, and pressed his lips to Tom's.

Tom froze, a part of him screaming, _Push him away! God, not **again**!_ but the rest of him was noticing subtle differences: Loki's lips were gentle against his, not violent, like they'd always been in the past, and there was no attempt to force his tongue in Tom's mouth; his hand was cupping Tom's cheek, thumb rubbing along the same caring path that it had travelled to wipe away tears the night before; he wasn't pushing Tom against a wall, wasn't even pushing him back in his chair. _He's kissing me like one might a lover._

Loki pulled back, his lips smirking while his eyes flickered between uncertainty and fear. "You would do well to remember who you challenge, my little fool."

 _'My,'_ Tom's mind catalogued and he couldn't help but press his fingers to his lips, uncertain how to react.

"Oh. Have I broken your pathetic mind? How sa–"

"You love me," Tom blurted out. And, oh God, _that_ was a stupid move.

Loki jerked like he'd been struck, and Tom knew a moment before green light gathered that he was going to vanish. He lurched across the table, shouting, "Loki, _no_!" but the god was already gone, and he was left half across his table, empty plates crushed against his stomach and chest. " _Damn_ ," he hissed, hitting the table before pushing himself back up. "You can't just disappear like that!" he called to the empty trailer.

There was no response – Tom hadn't, honestly, expected one – and he cursed again before picking up their plates to do the washing up. There was nothing he could do but wait and hope that Loki would come back soon enough.

Wait, hope, and try to decide how he felt about this latest development.

-0-

The week was slow, Tom and his fellow English cavalry members having no reason to climb into their uniforms while others were dancing in front of the cameras. They sat, instead, in their warmest coats around a fire near one of the tarps and kept the pot hot for between takes, as other members of the cast and crew had done for them in the past.

"You've been quiet," Ben commented on Friday, nudging Tom with his shoulder.

Tom glanced over at his friend – not as close as Chris, but someone he'd be more than happy to keep up with once they parted ways – and shrugged. "I've a bit on my mind," he allowed.

"Only a bit?" Ben teased, pale eyes bright with amusement. "I don't think I'd like to see you when it's a _lot_ , then."

Tom huffed a laugh. "Cute."

Ben flashed him a smile, then considered Tom with that look he'd developed for his part as Sherlock Holmes, the one that made whoever was the target feel a bit like they were held under a microscope. "Did you want to talk? People are always saying it helps."

Tom sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. _Why not?_ he figured, because he had been turning things over in his head for almost a week and got nowhere. "I have this...this friend. Or, well, I think of him as a friend. We have a bit of a poor past, a lot of misunderstandings, some bruises, so on; most of my friends who've met him – my sisters, too – want nothing to do with him, think I should just walk away before I get more hurt." He paused for a moment and Ben nodded. "Well, we were talking a bit, this weekend, and I told him I thought of him as my friend, and he did the whole, 'we're not friends, I'm not someone you'd ever _want_ as a friend' and I told him that's okay, he's my friend anyway.

"So, he didn't like that, and we sort of got into a bit of a fight. I mean, we're always getting into fights, because he has trouble relating to people without fighting with them, and I've got used to it. So he tried to start a fight, I suppose, and I wasn't playing along. And so he, well, he sort of kissed me. And then he ran, because that's what he does." Tom ran a hand through his hair, motions sharp and not entirely coordinated. "I don't know what to do," he finished quietly.

Ben considered him for a long moment, expression less Sherlock and more himself, then said, "What do you _want_ to do?"

Tom frowned. "What do I–?"

Ben nodded. "Forget your friend's feelings for a bit, forget what everyone else wants or thinks, what do _you_ want?"

_What do **I** want?_

"And no Shakespeare. Please."

Tom snorted and shoved Ben because, really? Ben had been known to quote Shakespeare to get out of difficult questions, too, though he was nowhere near as bad as Tom. "You don't get to tell me that."

Ben grinned at him, but made no further comment.

Tom stared at his friend for a moment before looking down at his hands, exact replicas of the god's. _What do I want? I want to help him, to help him heal from all the damage no one knew they were inflicting on his psyche. I want to show him that there's good in this world, that there are things to enjoy that don't involve hurting others. I want him to help me with riding and knife-throwing and all those things he thinks I should know, but I don't. I want to teach him to cook so he won't bang on my door at midnight, demanding hotcakes or muffins or whatever's caught his fancy this time._

"I don't want him to leave," Tom whispered and closed his eyes.

"Do you love him?" Ben asked, and that was such a loaded question, but Ben could never guess _how_ loaded.

Tom had loved Loki before he'd realised he was his rapist, of course, as he loved all his characters, and that had never really changed, though it had been shadowed by other emotions. He feared Loki, of course, and the things he could – and _would_ – do, when given sufficient interest or anger. He hated Loki, sometimes, for attacking others, for attacking _him_. He cared for Loki, wanted to see him well and honestly happy.

But did he love Loki like the god loved him?

Tom reached up unconsciously and touched his lips, remembering that kiss, how he'd needed to pull away because every cell of him had been trained to pull away from Loki, but he _hadn't_. He'd _needed_ to, but he hadn't really _wanted_ to. Just like how he'd become comfortable with Loki behind him, with standing shoulder-to-shoulder next to Civilon, with brushing hands over dishes or in learning how best to grip a knife for a specific throw, with waking to find the god in his room, with holding Loki's hand to his own face.

"Yes," he whispered, because maybe his feelings weren't so sexual as Loki's, but they were _there_. That comfort in his presence, that fear that the god would leave and never return, all of it was love. And he thought, in spite of everything that had come between them, he could learn to want Loki, just as Loki wanted him.

And, God, there was something so very _wrong_ with him, wasn't there?

"I suppose that's your answer," Ben offered. "If you want it, go for it. At least you already know it goes both ways."

"Yeah..."

"And I think your sisters and everyone else, I think they'll come around. If you're really happy – happier, even – I think they'll learn to live with him. Though–" His expression darkened. "–you said bruises, that he's always fighting, like–"

"He doesn't, not any more," Tom insisted, knowing what Ben was asking. "He fights with words, which, I mean, not much better. But he's–" Tom tugged his hand through his hair. "He knows weak spots – knows mine like the back of his hand – and he doesn't– he doesn't _avoid_ them, really, he just kind of, of skirts around the edges. He pokes at them, just enough to make me either leave, or give him a reason to leave without it looking like he's running away. And that– when that doesn't work, he runs. Because he's, well, he's really strong, strong enough to knock me flat if he wanted to, and he knows it. So he leaves. He just goes, before he can do anything."

"...Good," Ben decided before nudging Tom with his shoulder. "Talk to him."

"If he'll answer my calls," Tom muttered in reply, because that was the closest he could come to explaining how hard it was to get in contact with the god when Loki wasn't interested.

"He'll answer them," Ben said with certainty, and Tom laughed, because that seemed about right.

-0-

Tom came awake in a rush. There were lips pressed against his, legs straddling his hips, a hand fluttering between his jaw and cheekbone, as if uncertain where best to rest. He felt a flare of panic and pulled his head to the side, leaving the lips to kiss along the ridge of his ear, cool breaths puffing against the tiny hairs there.

 _Cool breaths,_ he recognised, and knowing who it was didn't lessen the panicked thundering of his heart. "S–stop! Loki, stop!"

The god ceased his kisses, pulling back enough that Tom could catch sight of his bright eyes, something manic making them dance in a way that should have been more terrifying than it really was. "Speak true," he ordered, and the manic note was there, in his voice, too. "Your words to that mortal, you meant them?"

"My words–?"

"That you have love for me," Loki insisted.

"Of course I love you," Tom replied, the words falling naturally from his lips, tainted with the after-effects of panic and sleep.

Loki's eyes brightened further – Tom hadn't thought it would be possible – and he leaned down to capture the human's lips with his again.

The kiss was gentle, but the god was still straddling him and the panic from his abrupt awakening hadn't quite abated, so Tom again turned his head away and pleaded, " _Stop_. God, Loki, _please_."

"Have you _lied_ , then?" Loki snarled, and there was violence in the hand the god had pressed against his jaw. "You would _dare_ –!"

"I'm not _lying_ ," Tom hurried to say, wrapping one hand around Loki's wrist to, hopefully, keep the god from running away. "I just– Please, _please_ get off of me."

Understanding calmed the mania in Loki's eyes and he moved off the bed, so he was standing next to it, Tom still holding his wrist. "Sorry," he whispered, and it sounded wrong coming from him, as if it were a word that he was never meant to speak.

Tom sighed and shifted over, dragging Loki down to kneel in the cleared spot of the bed. "I'm not awake enough for this conversation. Come on, lay down."

Loki did so, looking a bit befuddled. "What are you–?"

"Going back to sleep," Tom replied, tugging the blanket over the god. "There. Good night."

Loki let out a sound that was halfway between confused and amused. After blinking a few times at where Tom was relaxing to sleep, he sighed and turned his back on the human, dragging Tom's hand over his side to rest against his chest.

Tom huffed a laugh against the back of Loki's neck and shifted until he was comfortable at Loki's back, his hand pressed in a silent promise over the god's heart. "Good night, Loki."

"...good night."

-0-

Tom woke to the unusual sensation of being just the right temperature, even with his blankets still pulled tight under his chin. Usually, he would have kicked off his blankets because he got too warm in his sleep, and it took him a moment to realise that it was Loki's faint chill that kept him from feeling too hot.

Speaking of Loki... Tom's hand was still being held tight to the god's heart, but his face was smoothed over in sleep, and the aura of violence he usually held around himself, even while unconscious, had faded away to little more than a promise of quiet danger. Tom found himself entranced, eyes tracing a lock of hair that had curled against the god's lips, and catching on the glimmer of tears held under Loki's eyelashes.

"You're breathing in my ear," Loki murmured.

Tom jerked back, startled, and the god's grip on the hand over his heart tightened, holding it – and Tom – there. "Sorry," Tom offered once he'd recovered from his surprise.

Loki opened his eyes and the liquid that had been trapped by his lashes trickled down the side of his face, into his hair. His expression tightened slightly, like he wanted to close it off, to pretend he hadn't shed tears in his sleep, because that was a weakness he could little afford around anyone. But Tom had never been just 'anyone'.

Tom gently freed his hand from against Loki's heart and brushed his thumb against the line of tears, his pinkie freeing the hair still curled against Loki's lips. "Good morning," he murmured.

Loki leaned up and pressed his lips to Tom's, one hand smoothing through his short hair.

Tom held still for a moment, surprised, then returned the kiss as Loki started to pull away. There was a sense of control in being the one above the other party that soothed any of the usual panic.

Loki tightened his grip in Tom's hair at the returned affection, but that remained the only sign that he could easily control the kiss; the god's lips remained gentle against Tom's, letting the human direct their interactions. And when Tom finally pulled back, eyes bright with a hint of pleasure, Loki murmured, "Good morning. Tom."

Tom muffled a surprised sound, because Loki had _never_ used his name before, even while they'd been out with Tom's friends. He had always been 'mortal' or 'fool', and he'd half expected he always would be.

The corner of Loki's lips quirked. "Had you thought me unaware of your name?" he enquired, and there was none of the patronising tone he normally would have asked such a question with.

Tom shook his head. "No, I– I knew you knew it, because that's something you'd make note of, but I didn't– You've never used it."

"Hm." Loki shrugged. "I require food."

Tom laughed and pulled away. "Can you wait long enough for me to stop in the loo?"

"No," Loki insisted, but he didn't stop Tom when he rolled his eyes and closed the bathroom door behind him.

The morning followed about how mornings usually followed for them when Loki was in a good mood, with snarky comments about other members of the cast and crew, or discussions over what sort of mayhem was actually acceptable on set. Because it was a weekend, they also debated what to do for the day, and because they'd been to the nearest villages a couple times, they ended up agreeing to stay in.

They settled in on the couch to watch a couple telly shows and were both a little stiff at the start. Tom relaxed first, leaning against Loki's shoulder, and that seemed to be the sign the god was waiting for, as he relaxed back and they both sort of ended up supporting each other, laughing about something stupid on the programme.

-0-

The rest of the filming went smoothly enough, and Tom was noticeably more cheerful for it. When Ben mentioned it in passing, eyebrows raised, Tom admitted that the bloke he'd been worrying over had returned his call and they'd talked it out.

"Yeah? Am I going to meet him?" Ben had asked.

Tom blinked. "Well, it's a bit weird, but I suppose so."

"A bit weird?" Ben repeated, but Tom had refused to answer, figuring that introducing his fellow actor to the god would be answer enough.

Tom had been right, for when Loki had finally agreed to meet with Tom's closest friends among his _War Horse_ co-workers, Ben's eyebrows went right up into his hairline. "A _bit_ weird?" Ben asked Tom while Loki smirked at a couple others who'd come out to meet Tom's 'friend from home', which was how he'd pitched it to most of them. Ben had been the only one he'd told that they were sort of – in that Loki didn't care for the word – dating.

Tom winced. "I warned you."

"You know, I didn't take you for the narcissistic sort," Ben teased.

"I'm _not_ ," Tom insisted. "I'd love Lo' no matter how he looks." Which was true enough; their second weekend together, Loki had changed his form to that of a woman and taken Tom on a date in Paris – the god had somehow got it into his head that that's what was expected for humans when they were courting, and Tom had seen nothing to complain about, even when he'd had to pay or let Loki swindle the restaurant – and Tom had quickly discovered that while the different face threw him a bit, there was still more than enough of Loki in the flicker of uncertainty in his/her eyes, or the turn of his/her scowl when she/he took insult to something. And it was those brief flashes under Loki's armour – those suggestions of something approaching humanity – that Tom had fallen in love with, not the sensation of looking into a mirror every time he spoke to the god. In all honestly, once Tom had got used to the different face where he expected his own, he was almost _more_ comfortable with Loki.

Ben had laughed and patted his shoulder, and Tom had rolled his eyes, then darted forward to stop Loki from spelling someone's shoelaces together.

Somewhere between waking up with Loki that first morning and letting the god meet Ben and his other friends on set, Tom made calls to Emma and Sarah. They'd both been upset, understandably, but Emma had agreed to give the god a chance, then talked Sarah around, who had hung up on Tom when he'd told her.

 _"You're still getting me steel-toes boots,"_ Emma had added after giving in to Tom's heart. _"And I will kick him bloody if he acts out."_

"I don't think he's going to be as afraid of this as you want him to be," Tom returned.

 _"He'll learn,"_ Emma insisted and Tom laughed because he was simultaneously looking forward to this event, and terrified of it.

He also eventually rang Chris, something he'd sort of been avoiding since he'd gone hunting for Loki. That wasn't to say that he and Chris hadn't _spoken_ , just that they'd done very little of it, and Tom always avoided all talk that might, somehow, come back around to Loki.

Chris answered, like always, perfectly cheerful: _"Hey, mate!"_

Tom sighed. "Hi, Chris."

The line was quiet for a long moment, then, _"What's happened?"_

"A lot," Tom admitted. "I've sort of been...avoiding telling you something..."

_"Lovely. Am I going to need to catch a flight to England and knock you on your arse?"_

Tom choked on a laugh, then grimaced to think of what Loki would do if he and Chris met without warning. "Let's– Can we avoid international flights for the moment?"

_"That sounds like a yes."_

"Chris–" Tom groaned and tugged at his hair, leaning around the edge of the tent he was under to ensure that Loki was still with the horses. "Remember when I told you I thought it was Loki? In London, before I left?"

 _"...yes..."_ Chris agreed, and there was caution in his tone, a wary uncertainty that said he was already foreseeing Tom's next words and hoped to God he was wrong.

"I may have hunted him down."

 _" **Thomas Hiddleston**!"_ Chris roared and Tom held his mobile from his ear while the Aussie cursed him out for being an absolute idiot with the preservation skills of a baby kangaroo. Which, actually, was pretty accurate.

When the mobile fell silent, Tom gingerly returned it to his ear. "Are you done?"

 _"I'm saving the rest for in person,"_ Chris growled.

Tom sighed and glanced towards the horse enclosure again. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Or, well...okay. So, please don't yell until I've finished?"

Chris let out a long sigh. _"Christ, Tom. Right, let's hear it. You're still alive, so you must not have found the gu–"_

"I did," Tom replied quietly and Chris fell silent. Tom fancied he could hear the other's teeth grinding with the urge to yell again, so he quickly explained, "I was right, it _was_ Loki. And I– well, I caught his interest. He followed me home, threatened Emma and me a bit, then swore a blood oath to stop attacking humans so long as I'd let him stay with me for six months."

Tom was quiet for a long moment, giving Chris an opening, before the Aussie finally said, _"He's been living with you."_

"Yeah."

_"Has he done anything?"_

"Yes and no?"

_"Tom."_

"He'd act like he was going to do something, but he'd always back off when I told him to. It was– He made a game of it. And it wasn't, it hasn't been fun, at times, but–"

 _"Okay, stop. Past tense. It hasn't been six months,"_ Chris interrupted.

"No," Tom agreed. "But. Okay, about...maybe a month ago, now, he started acting weird. He'd warn me instead of just being an arse, and I called him out and he freaked out and disappeared. And it took a couple weeks, but we sorted it out and he... Chris, he'd fallen in love with me."

Chris sighed. _"Of course he did,"_ he said tiredly. _"You took a chance when everyone else would have thrown him aside. Even Thor and Odin... Dammit, Tom. **Why**? You knew what he was, you knew what he was capable of, had even been on the receiving end. Why would you take the chance?"_

"Someone had to," Tom replied. And, then, because he knew Chris, added, "You would have."

Chris let out a humourless laugh. _"Yeah,"_ he agreed. _"Yeah, I probably would have."_ He sighed again. _"You love him."_ It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," Tom whispered against a block in his throat.

_"Do you trust him?"_

"Mostly. Not with you, I think. He's still a bit... In his sleep, sometimes, he talks. And it's all Norse – or whatever language the Æsir speak when it's not translating into English or French – so I can't understand most of it, but I catch words, sometimes. Thor, mostly. And it's– Sometimes he's angry, sometimes he's really sad, and I'm just not sure how you two meeting is going to go."

 _"We're going to meet eventually, Tom,"_ Chris pointed out.

"I know. I just– I need to work up to it, okay?"

_"Okay, okay. Just so you know, when we eventually meet up, you and I are on the mats."_

Tom grimaced, but he knew he deserved a little rough handling by his best friend. "Yeah, I know."

_"Good. And, Tom?"_

"Chris?"

 _"Don't keep something like this from me again,"_ the Aussie ordered, sounding perfectly cheerful.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Next time I go hunting down a rapist and murder who I suspect is a Norse deity, I'll definitely let you know."

"What about me?" Loki purred, chest pressing against Tom's back.

" _Loki_! Stop sneaking up on me!" Tom complained, turning and hitting the god with his free hand.

Loki laughed and caught Tom's hand to bring it to his lips. "I always forget," he offered. "Did you not just speak with your sisters but some days ago?"

"This isn't– This is my friend. Uh, Chris."

"Oh? I thought you were avoiding mentioning the truth of me to those outside of your sisters."

 _"I'm a special case. Tom, tell him–"_ Chris started.

Loki's expression twisted, caught somewhere between fury and pain. " _Thor_ ," he snarled and reached for the mobile.

"Chris, I'll call you back," Tom hurried to say before hitting the 'end call' button and shoving the phone in his pocket. "It's not your brother," he promised, catching Loki's wrists and smothering a wince when Loki's fingers scraped along his wrists. "I'd have told you if I was in contact with Thor. I _swear_."

" _Liar_ ," Loki spat.

"I'm terrible at lying, you know that. I can't lie to save my life. Loki, hey, come– Don't you _dare_ ," Tom ordered, tightening his grip on Loki's wrists as the god tried to pull away. "You're not running away from me. Calm down. Loki, _listen_ to me!"

" _What_ , idiot?" Loki snapped. And, okay, that hurt, because Loki had made a point to use Tom's name since that morning, but he stopped trying to pull away, so Tom would take what he could get.

Tom took a quick breath and hurried to say, "I look like you, and I told you I was working on a film where I _was_ you, so wouldn't it make sense that the guy playing Thor looks and sounds like him, just like with us?"

Loki took a long moment to consider that before his stance relaxed. "Yes," he agreed.

Tom sighed and chanced letting go of one of Loki's wrists so he could cup the god's cheek. "His name's Chris. We've been friends since we met on set. I haven't mentioned him because I've been afraid of what you'd do. I mean, Lo', you were hunting down blokes that looked like him."

Loki closed his eyes and leaned into Tom's touch. "I would not have done him harm," he murmured.

"Now who's lying?"

Loki cracked an eye open to glare at the human, which just made Tom laugh. "Idiot," the god muttered, but it was fond and Tom smiled at him. "My oath would have stopped me."

"Wasn't going to take that chance," Tom informed him. "Can I call him back? Are you going to freak out at his voice?"

"No," Loki returned with a sniff. "You may speak with your... _friend_ ," he allowed, making the last word sound like acid.

Tom rolled his eyes, used to the god's distaste for relationships in general. (Really, was it any wonder Tom had to discover Loki's feelings on his own and be the one to bring them together?) He pulled his mobile back out and dialled up Chris' number. "Hi."

 _"Oh, thank God,"_ Chris breathed, and Tom felt Loki's jaw twitch under his hand.

"He's really not going to hurt me, Chris," Tom pointed out, rubbing his thumb against the corner of Loki's mouth, which curled, helplessly, with a half-smile. It was one of Loki's little oddities that Tom liked to exploit when the god was in a bad mood.

 _"Given your history, you'll have to excuse my concern,"_ Chris returned drily and Tom grimaced while Loki sneered. _"Is he there?"_

"I am," Loki answered, pulling Tom's hand away from where he was rubbing the corner of the god's mouth.

"He has really good hearing," Tom commented and Loki snorted.

 _"I'm less surprised than I should be,"_ Chris returned.

"No you're not."

 _"No, I'm not,"_ Chris agreed. _"What's your schedule look like for the next couple months?"_

"Oh, Chris, no. Really, no."

_"Tom, I'm coming up there. Mats. And I think we'd both like to keep any meetings apart from the Group Hug set or my wedding."_

"Oh, Go– Right. Good point. Uhm, I get back to London in a week, but I'm right in to work on _The Children's Monologues_ , then _Deep Blue Sea_. Fifteenth or sixteenth, probably."

 _"_ Monologues _is on the fourteenth?"_

"Yes."

_"I'll come up for that, then."_

Tom glanced at Loki's expression, his eyes having fallen to where the god was holding his hand between them. "Middle of November. Is that okay?"

"Yes, yes. As you please," Loki replied, flipping one hand.

"Not 'as I please', Lo'," Tom insisted, trapping his mobile between ear and shoulder so he could catch both of Loki's hands with his. "We can wait until January and I can go to the wedding alone."

 _"You're worse than Elsa. Really,"_ Chris offered.

"Shut up, Chris."

Loki sighed. "It is best this meeting occurs the sooner, I believe. I am beholden to my oath for a month yet, and this added security would not be remiss."

Tom nodded and squeezed the hands in his. "Okay. We'll see you mid-November, then?"

Chris let out an amused sound. _"Yeah, sure thing. Am I bunking at a hotel, or have you still got that wretched couch?"_

"My couch is lovely and I'll thank you to leave it alone," Tom shot back with a laugh. "The pen incident was entirely _your_ fault."

_"Your pen."_

"You were the one who left it on the cushion and walked away. I take zero blame for this."

 _"So, is that a yes on the couch?"_ Chris asked, laughing.

Tom glanced at Loki. "Why don't we go for the hotel, actually? I can put in for it if you're running a bit short. Wedding costs, I know."

Chris sighed. _"Yeah, if that's what you'd prefer. I'll see you on the fourteenth?"_

"Yes. Let me know when you've got your flight worked out. I'll see if I can send Emma or Mum to pick you up."

 _"Will do,"_ Chris agreed and they both hung up.

Tom and Loki watched each other for a long moment before Tom nodded towards the stables. "How are they?"

Loki glanced towards the stables himself, then back at Tom. After a moment's pause, he started talking about the herd, stiffness easing from his body as he spoke.

They didn't bring Chris' visit up again.

-0-

Loki and Emma's second meeting went much smoother than the first, both of them having sworn to Tom that they'd be on their best behaviour. They were obviously wary of each other, and there were more than a couple snide remarks tossed out, but they kept from being outright nasty and Tom thought he might not have to police their second meeting quite so closely. (He hoped.)

Loki's first meeting with Chris, however, was somehow both worse and better than his meeting with Emma. Tom had found some photos of his fellow actor to show Loki before the two would meet, because there were subtle differences, like how his own eyes were slightly more blue than Loki's, and he was naturally blond, while Loki's hair was truly jet black. Loki insisted that Chris was less built than his brother – something which Tom wasted no time in mocking his friend for – and Thor's eyes were 'less the bright blue of a clear sky, more the grey-blue of a coming storm'.

When they met at last, after the play, there was some uncertainty, then Chris held out his hand to shake and commented, "You're shorter than I expected."

Tom groaned and rubbed at his eyes, but Loki took the joke as it was meant as and returned Chris' grip. Judging by the way Chris winced, Tom guessed Loki was gripping a bit tighter than necessary, and the gods words proved that assumption correct: "You're quite a bit weaker than I expected." Loki flashed a smirk. "I shouldn't be surprised; you are, after all, _mortal_."

" _Behave_ ," Tom hissed, because they were technically in public, even if most everyone had cleared away from their little corner, including Emma and Tom's parents.

"Whoops," Loki said, completely unapologetic, and finally let Chris' hand go.

Chris rubbed at his hand. "Is he _always_ like this?" he asked Tom.

"You've caught him on a good day," Tom returned drily.

"Yes. You shouldn't like to meet me on a _bad_ day," Loki agreed, amused.

"I can't take you _anywhere_ ," Tom complained, rolling his eyes.

Chris laughed and draped an arm around Tom's shoulders. When Loki glared at him, Chris smiled and said, "He's my best mate and I can hug him if I want to. The only person who gets to tell me to piss off is Tom."

Loki huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "If it is your pleasure to touch that monstrosity, as you please."

"My coat," Tom clarified, before Chris could think the god was talking about Tom himself.

Chris grimaced. "It's a bit of an eyesore, Tom."

"Nobody likes my coat," Tom complained. "Emma was harping about it, too."

"It is dreadful taste," Loki insisted.

"You haven't even been here a year, and you spent your first six months avoiding human clothing. You don't get to comment on my 'taste'."

"Is he dressing himself?" Chris asked.

"Yes?"

Chris considered the god, then looked at Tom. "He's got more taste than you."

"Of course I do," Loki agreed, preening a bit.

"No. No, you two do _not_ get to make friends over fashion. I forbid it."

"You forbid me nothing," Loki reminded him. "I do as I please."

Tom ducked out from under Chris. "I'm going to find Emma. You two are free to kill each other while I'm not looking." He hurried off to, hopefully, save Ben from his sister.

Chris and Loki, as Tom's luck would have it, ended up getting along swimmingly, and he spent the night bemoaning his luck while Loki lay next to him in the bed, kicking him when he started moaning too loudly.

Chris did drag Tom out to a gym the next afternoon and they had a lovely tussle, which they ended up declaring a draw after they both took each other down a handful of times.

"Are we good?" Tom asked over lunch.

Chris sighed. "Try not to do something this stupid again?"

"If it's between me and innocents, I'm not going to stand back and do nothing," Tom insisted.

Chris shook his head. "Fine. But, next time, not _alone_ , okay? Call me, I'll come up. Or take Loki, since he's around."

"You're assuming Loki won't handle it himself just to keep me from being stupid."

"I'm actually counting on that."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I promise not to go hunting down any more potentially dangerous maniacs without someone to watch my back."

"Can I get that in blood?"

"Eat your burger."

-0-

It wasn't until Loki found out that _Deep Blue Sea_ had a quasi-sex scene that he started pushing the idea of sexual intimacy again.

"So you'll sleep with some– some _harlot_ –"

"Can you _not_ call Rachel na–"

"I will call her as I _please_ ," Loki snarled.

"And it's not like we're _actually_ sleeping together!"

"You are naked. You are in the same bed. You are– are–" Loki tossed the script he'd been looking at. " _Writhing_ together. What would you call this?"

" _Acting_."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Then you may _act_ without _me_."

"Loki!" Tom grabbed for the god, but Loki had already vanished in a flash of light. "Could you please just _stop doing that_?" he demanded of the empty room.

Loki gave no response and Tom spent the next few days in a sore mood. Terence moved their schedule around a bit, using Tom's current irritation to shoot the tense scenes between Freddie and Hester.

That Friday after shooting, Tom went out to the pub 'round the way and gave up his usual promise to avoid drinking. He was just passing tipsy when a woman who seemed entirely too familiar pressed up against his side. "Is there a reason you're drowning yourself?" she asked as she stole his drink and downed it.

Tom stared up at her, more caught by the familiarity than angry at having his drink stolen. "Do I know you?"

"You're ruining my plans, my idiot."

Tom blinked and it took him an embarrassing amount of time to connect those two words with the person who usually said them. "Lo'?" he mumbled.

Loki sighed and pulled Tom off the stool he'd been slumped in. "We're going home," she ordered.

"You're staying, right?" Tom pleaded, and he was too far into the drink to care how pathetic he sounded.

"Yes, of course I am," Loki agreed.

Tom didn't remember most of the trip home, and he had cloudy memories of falling into bed with Loki, neither quite naked, her breasts pressing tight against his chest from under a flimsy shirt. He remembered with crystal clarity the glimmer of her magic against his forehead before it dragged him under, and her quiet murmur of, "We will continue this in the morning. Idiot."

Tom woke to the odd sensation of holding a woman, and was more than a little thrown until he remembered snatches of Loki being a female. By the time he'd sorted that, Loki had woken herself and was watching him. "Wha– Why?" Tom had to ask, brushing his hand over her hips and up her waist. They'd spoken before the end of _War Horse_ about the necessity of gender, and Tom had been quite firm in that he didn't care if people knew he was dating – " _Courting_ ," Loki had insisted and Tom had rolled his eyes before agreeing – a male. That they looked so similar was certain to be the thing that brought the most questions, but Loki had solved that by leaving something of an illusion for those who didn't know who he was, changing the shape of his face just enough to make people less likely to see them as near twins.

"Why what?" Loki demanded, higher voice rough from sleep.

"Why female?" Tom requested.

"You would not think to sleep with me as I was, so I would give you something more to your preference."

And, _Oh. No wonder he disappeared,_ Tom realised, because Loki had long fought for recognition as his own person. And this, changing his form to get what he wanted, to make Tom happy, could not have been an easy choice to make. "Lo'," Tom breathed, cupping her cheek, "this isn't what I wanted. Please, please turn back."

Loki's form shifted under his hand, face twisted with confusion. "Then what?" he asked.

"I _love you_ ," Tom whispered and Loki closed his eyes against the words, looking almost like he didn't believe he deserved them. "I love _all_ of you. And, please, you have to understand this isn't about _you_. I'm afraid."

"That is my fault," Loki murmured.

Tom didn't deny that – it was the harsh truth of their relationship. "I almost refused this job, when I saw the script," he said instead, a secret he hadn't told anyone. "I wasn't sure I could do it. But then I realised that if I thought of it as just acting, if I knew it was never real, I could get through." And, then, because it was both the truth, and Loki needed to hear it, he added, "Two months ago, I wouldn't have been able to talk myself into doing the scene. You've helped."

Loki let out a choked breath and turned closer to the hand that remained on his cheek. "I don't want you sharing bed with another," he whispered, almost too quiet for Tom to catch. "Not even in play." He opened his eyes and met Tom's gaze, green eyes bright with tears. "I would help more, heal what damage I have wrought."

"I just need _time_ , Lo'," Tom insisted.

But Loki was shaking his head, a glimmer of an idea in his eyes, overcoming the tears. "I hurt you for control, I would have you take that from me."

"Take– I'm not...sure I understand..." Tom said.

Loki took the hand against his cheek and wrapped it carefully around his own wrists. "As I did to you, you should do to me."

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Tom insisted, pulling his hand away as though burned.

"Then don't," Loki whispered, cupping Tom's cheek. "I am powerless, Tom; do with me as you will. If that is harm, then you may cause me to bleed, but if you wish only love, then love me. Show me your strength, as I once showed you mine."

Tom finally realised what Loki was suggesting, and he wasn't sure if it would help any, but a part of him had longed to see Loki come undone long before they'd started sharing a bed, and this wasn't an opportunity he was particularly inclined to pass up. "No masks."

Surprise flickered in Loki's eyes for a moment before it was hidden behind a flare of uncertainty, then blankness.

"No. Masks," Tom ordered.

Loki stared at him for a long moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Muscles Tom hadn't even known the god had kept tense relaxed, and when he opened his eyes again, they swam with fear and uncertainty and so much love that it took Tom's breath away. "I will try," Loki whispered, voice cracking.

Tom's response was to kiss him, pressing his tongue against the god's lips until they parted and it could twine around Loki's own tongue in a promise of intimacy. Loki let out a sound that was just shy of a whimper and his hands touched the sides of Tom's ribs before hurriedly dropping back to the bed.

Tom smiled and shifted to suck at the hinge of Loki's jaw, an erogenous zone he'd discovered entirely on accident and Loki had quickly warned him away from. The god let out a whisper of a gasp and one hand, again, touched Tom's side before pulling away. Tom pulled back and pushed his hands up, under Loki's shirt. "Off," he ordered and they struggled for a moment to get it up and over the god's head. Once the shirt was in a pile on the floor, Tom took one of Loki's hands and held it to his side. "Gentle," he warned and the god nodded in understanding.

Tom moved on, then, brushing his hands over Loki's chest and sides, making note of the little noises the god half muffled – fighting against centuries of hiding himself – and coming back to those spots with his fingers or mouth, worrying at them until Loki lost the ability to muffle his pleasure, a task that became easier as Tom found new ones, until Loki wasn't muffling his voice any more. And Tom thought, _I'm making a god fall apart._

It wasn't until Tom reached the waist of Loki's pants that he realised one small issue. "Lo', we don't have anything–"

The hand that wasn't held to Tom's shoulder – where it had moved as Tom moved down the god's body – lit with green magic and Loki grit his teeth, his hips arching slightly under Tom's hands. "Magic," he panted, matching Tom's stare with a hint of a smile and a well of need. And then, when Tom didn't move right away, "Please..."

Tom smiled himself – hearing Loki plead for something would never get old – and pulled Loki's pants off. The god's penis fell stiff against his abs once the pants were gone, and Tom paused to consider it for a moment before he leaned down and kissed the head.

"Hate you so much," Loki whined, hips arching.

"Liar," Tom murmured, lips brushing Loki's penis and making the god whine again. "Tell the truth," he added as he slipped a hand under Loki's raised hips, tracing the crack of his arse.

Loki tugged on Tom's shoulder until the human moved up so their lips could meet. "Love you," Loki whispered into the kiss, then groaned as Tom's finger pressed into his arse. " _More_."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Tom insisted.

Loki shook his head. "You _won't_ ," he swore and pressed down on the finger inside him. The hand that wasn't on Tom's shoulder suddenly made itself known by cupping the front of his pants, and it was Tom's turn to buck his hips. One side of Loki's mouth curled with a smirk and he hid it against Tom's mouth with another kiss.

Tom pressed another finger into the god and, okay, Loki was right about the likelihood of there being any pain; his passage stretched easily and was already slick, as though it secreted lube. _Magic_ , Tom knew and pulled away to tug his pants off. He used some of the lube that had covered his fingers from inside Loki on his own cock and groaned at the contact.

" _Now_ ," Loki ordered, canting his hips up in a clear invitation.

And Tom thought he should probably refuse, because the idea was that the god directed none of this, but he'd already pulled him to pieces and _God_ , he wanted this too, wanted it so much he could _taste_ it – ice and the zing of magic against his tongue – so he carefully lined himself up and pressed in. Slow, slow, encased in cool promise and moving to the tempo of Loki's moan, ignoring the way the god's hand tugged at his shoulder to go faster.

He pressed flush and stopped, breathing hard and fighting the urge to just _take_ the god, like Loki wanted – like _Tom_ wanted – because this was going to mean something, this do-over. He leaned forward, pressed a chaste kiss to Loki's lips, and whispered, "I love you."

Loki let out a strangled sob and his hands ran up Tom's back, tracing his spine, and wrapped around his shoulders. " _Please_ ," he whispered back, a broken sound.

"I love you," Tom said again, just the littlest louder.

And Loki's eyes caught his, bright with tears and magic and so much love. "I love you," he repeated.

And Tom thought, as he started to move, Loki gasping against his lips, _We're going to be okay._

**Author's Note:**

> May I just say, 'AKJDBKSDJFALNK!! ♪This is the fic that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends–♪ ' *gets dragged away to a padded room, still singing*
> 
> -
> 
> No, no sequels intended. I'm going back to _Interaction_ and getting my Tomki fill there. Where the world is sane. (Did I just call a fic with an invisible, non-corporeal god sane? Merlin save me, I've been working on this fic too long. *face palm* )
> 
> I would apologise for this travesty, but I'm too brain-dead. So, no apologies. (Okay, small lie. I apologise for the lack of a beta-check. I wanted this out now, because I kind of promised Aisling, and my Tomki beta usually has a turn-around of about a day. I read it back over, but I never catch everything. So, lemme know if you spot a boo-boo and I'll fix it. I say, after you've reached the end and didn't make note of any errors you spotted. XD)
> 
> I love you all, I'mma gonna go crash now. 'Scuse me,  
> ~Bats ^.^x


End file.
